Burnt Circlet
by Apathyisdeath
Summary: After being saved from her humble thief beginnings, a young Nord finds her fate colored at Helgen, all due to a charismatic rebel and his devoted followers. On this new path, she encounters death, magic, romance, rebirth and, of course, dragons. Can the dovahkiin truly be a hero and a foolish young girl? Even love and taboos of class can trip the mightiest of dragons up. OC/Ulfric.
1. Chapter 1

It had been quite the fair morning when they had hauled her out of her cell. The skies overhead hardly hinted at snow, even if the Imperials around them seemed to blanch at what they knew as a bitterly cold day. She smiled inwardly at that despite her situation.

Being paraded through the village of Helgen as a rebel was not exactly what embarrassed her. She felt an odd sense of pride for her fellow Nords, fighting for their right to freedom and dignity. She had attempted to cross the border (she found herself unable to recall how long ago exactly) and found herself in an Imperial ambush intended for their rebels. It would take more than that to embarrass her; even the greatest sneaks were caught sometimes.

No, it had been the jailing process that had humiliated her. They had stripped her of her modest clothing in her cell, replaced them with that of a prisoner, dashed her with cold water and wrenched her mother's decorative circlet from her head. Those entity-like men being the first of their gender to see her naked terrified her, and she had not attempted to cover herself; she was not easily ashamed of her own body. Of her mother's circlet, her mother had never properly worn it, she recalled from her childhood. Their living on a farm had made it difficult to seem pretty and hardworking at the same time. She remembered staring at it in awe whilst being called for dinner. Upon inheriting it almost two years ago, she felt the odd need to sport it whenever the mood took her.

When she had been extracted from her cell that morning they had not clothed her in the clothes they had taken, instead leaving her in her sackcloth rags. At least they had allowed her the dignity of dressing herself. She had fought tooth and nail upon her imprisonment; she mused that was why they tossed the rags at her.

These were the first thoughts that came to the forefront of her mind after her final sleep. She repeated the images in her head again and again: her mother placing her prized circlet in its case, the looks upon her younger sisters' faces when they were first shown it, being captured by the Imperials and being terrified when they stripped her of her clothes. She shuddered against the wood of the cart. The others in the carriage looked to her as she properly awoke.

"Hey you. You're finally awake." A blond and braided Stormcloak adressed her curtly as if they were already fond friends. _My name is Sottë Andrel_, she thought. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into an Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there."

The thief blustered a curse on the Stormcloaks which fell on their otherwise deaf ears and turned to Sottë. He was desperate to forge an alliance of sorts with any who could help him or perhaps even somehow take his place. "You there. You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

Sottë would not reply to one such as him. She did not wish to justify his words with a reply, nor did she wish to spend her final seconds blustering about politics when she was so close to coming face to face with Talos. She looked to the fair sky and closed her eyes, hearing the Stormcloak who had previously adressed her talk.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

"Shut up back there!" A disembodied Imperial voice barked, making Sottë open her eyes with a start. The man brushing her shoulder to the right had been gazing at her, and she (she would later regret the instinct) shot him a short scowl in some attempt to ward him off. A warm drop of hate for the Empire lit her heart. Blood of another had never sullied her hands, of course she had picked locks or robbed bread for the sake of her own stomach, but she felt the will of a murderer beside that hate, too. Sottë clenched her teeth against the impulse.

"And what's wrong with him, huh?" The thief pointed his head slightly at the Stormcloak to Sottë's right, his mouth covered.  
>"Watch your tongue. You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."<p>

Sottë attempted to swallow the lump in her throat as she realised the seriousness of their situation, her prior rage newly quelled. She stole a glance at the infamous Jarl, the man whom she had scowled at moments before. He was different to how she had imagined from the stories. She had imagined him old and tough, but he seemed younger and even somewhat handsomer than she anticipated. Handsome in a way that made her cheeks pinken against the snow-filled skies and the tips of her ears burn in the frost. A way that had her fumbling to avert her gaze in a wholly self-conscious manner.

Had he not been prevented from speaking, she would wager that the masses followed him due to the innate charisma about him and in his eyes. He met her gaze swiftly, soon making her feel that she had stared at the man longer than was socially acceptable. Sottë allowed his eyes to bore into her own, attempting to have him help her understand their situation in some way. He was younger...much younger than she had expected him from the tales. All those tales were of great valor and bravery. Surely, such a man could not exist in such a menial sense. Those around him respected him greatly, but what did he think of himself for it all?

Sottë quickly lowered her gaze to the cart after his gaze did not cease nor fall.

The thief had started to scare again. "Ulfric? The jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you...oh gods. Where are they taking us?"  
>"I don't know where we're going. But Sovngarde awaits." The Stormcloak replied stoicly.<p>

An old childhood song that her mother used to sing when harvesting the leeks drifted to the front of her brain. _Sovngarde is ever receiving, as her sons are forever at war. _Sottë hummed it within her mind. _But her gates are not barred, as you may have been told, to the women and children worth fighting for. _It was a song of one who waived his right to a place at Sovngarde for the glory of his daughter and today, she did not fear humming aloud for fear of being seen as strange. Lingering gazes on her were expected, and she shot sour gazes back on those who repeatedly did so.

They arrived at their destination quicker than she had anticipated. The cart came to a rolling stop. The thief was panicked again, inquiring to the situation as a child had done seconds before.  
>"End of the line." The speaking Stormcloack told him. "Let's go, we shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."<br>"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time." The Imperial Captain ordered.  
>"Empire loves their damn lists." The Stormcloak muttered.<br>"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." The list began.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" The Stormcloak called, destined to die a loud death. Sottë watched his retreating back as he went, waiting to hear her name. Seeing him depart was odd...she reminded herself of an expected camaraderie in the face of death. Seeing the death of a relevant cause would be something that would stay in her young mind, would it not be?

"Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead." The soldier called.  
>"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"<p>

As much as she thought him a fool, Sottë averted her eyes when Lokir of Rorikstead's end came upon his attempted escape. She had felt it coming in her very bones. No individual deserved to be made to be such an example in their death, and not by the Imperial Army.

"Anyone else feel like running?" Sottë kept her eyes on the floor at the Imperial Captain's words. An Imperial Army Nord had been calling out the names of the guilty, nonchalantly sending his kinsmen to the bloodied block.  
>"Wait, you there. Step forward." He now adressed her, an odd look on his face. "You've picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman. Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."<p>

"Forget the list. She goes to the block."  
>"By your orders, captain. I'm sorry, at least you'll die here in your homeland. Follow the Captain, prisoner."<br>The rage that had gripped her before threatened to rise.

She had imagined General Tullius differently, too. To her and her youth, he seemed an old and fragile man, not the glorious and dashing hero the newspaper made him out to be.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." General Tullius chose his words carefully, probably relishing in this moment.

The Jarl growled incoherently as wonder lit Sottë's eyes. The Voice? She thought such a power to be obsolete, driven out by the Imperials generations ago. Her eyes drifted in a sideways glance to him.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace." Sottë's jaw clenched again, reminding her of the anger that threatened to cloud her clarity.

An indignant roar, a screech, pierced the morning air far off in the distance.  
>"What was that?" The Imperial Army Nord gasped. Sottë searched the sky in spite of herself. Was that what she thought it was? Could it possibly be?<br>"It's nothing. Carry on." Tullius ordered.  
>"Give them their last rites." The captain adressed a robed priestess of Arkay. Sottë forced her eyes shut. It was not in reverance, nor was she praying to the Divines. She may have been mistaken for one, but she was no soldier. She would not casually watch more of her fellows being executed. Blood rushed violently in her ears, leaving her with only feeling the fresh air on her bare arms.<p>

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with." Sottë opened her eyes. An unnamed Stormcloak lowered himself to the block.  
>"As you wish." The priestess said, pursing her lips.<br>"Come on, I haven't got all morning." The Stormcloak hissed from his place on the block at their feet. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

She forced her eyes shut again just as the axe was about to connect with the Stormcloak's neck.

"As fearless in death as he was in life." The blond Stormcloak reflected.  
>The sky-noise came again. This time it was closer. The Imperials seemed to notice more this time, growing nervous.<p>

"Next prisoner."  
>"There it is again. Did you hear that?" The Imperial-Nord voiced himself again.<br>"I said, next prisoner!"

Sottë found she was to be the next prisoner. Her thought was of her old Talos amulet she had left back home. Since her two sisters had left to marry after the death of her mother, it had been her only comfort through the harsher months of Evening Star. She felt eyes burn on the back of her head as she fell to the block.

The roar came again. This time, it sounded very close. Dangerously close.  
>"What in Oblivion is that?" She heard Tullius yell above the disorder. Only upon turning her head from the floor did she see how close the dragon was. She let out as a gasp. The sky was no longer fair, but an Oblivion-like wound of red and pink.<p>

"Hey, you! Get up!" It was the Stormcloak named Ralof of Riverwood. "Come on, the gods won't give us another chance! This way!" She followed him, her very skin crawling at hearing the cries of the army fighting the beast. They took shelter in the tower, and Ralof was frenzied with apparent amazement.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?" He breathed.  
>"Legends don't burn down villages." Ulfric said, his voice low as he moved across the room. Sottë stifled her heavy breathing, watching the man who she had dreaded the execution of. Here he was, calm and composed. She was terrified from it all, trembling and shivering in her fright and thin attire. "We have to move. Now!"<br>The damned dragon seemed determined to get at the sentient life guarded within the safe confines of the tower. The wall shattered like thread, throwing them back and blocking their path.

"See the inn on the other side?" Ralof panted heavily from the shock. "Jump through the roof and keep going. Go! We'll follow when we can!"  
>Sottë complied. Pain shot through her shins as she made contact with the creaking and exposed second floor of the inn. She met the ground with haste, eager to escape and return home with her life still intact. The Nord-Imperial was helping civilians escape. She would follow him until she found a way out, curtly thank him and be gone.<p>

"Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." He yelled, his voice mingling with the noise. The dragon threw everything in its ancient power at them: it would topple buildings, tear limbs, crush skulls and spill blood all to see their dead and burnt bodies. With her hands still bound, Sottë's feet quickly pounded the ash-covered terrain.

"Ralof! You damned traitor! Out of my way!" Sottë drew her eyes up from the ground at the man's voice.  
>"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time." It was Ralof. Joy leapt into her heart at the sight of the rebels escaping. She noted the Jarl to be absent and felt the defeat it was to the Stormcloaks heavily on her heart.<p>

"You! Come on, into the keep!" Ralof quickly beckoned her to escape with him through the keep. She did not hesitate, curling her fingers against the sensation of the ground shaking beneath her feet. The burning sky overhead was still angry, roars of the ancient dragon still pierced the gulf between them all. She would not ask of the jarl.

Sottë stopped a number of paces away from the man, noticing something glinting in the ash to her right. It couldn't be. She approached it warily, lowering her legs awkwardly until her bound hands were over it. It looked like her stolen circlet, winking at her in the dank colors. Her clammy fingers came into contact with it, grasping it as securely as they could within their limited movement. The sorrow that had been contained within her was alleviated at having it back, and she allowed herself, upon aching legs, to follow the escaping Ralof.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I apologise if this had too much game dialogue in it! I wanted to start from the beginning, and it seemed that I would have to use a lot of game dialogue in the start. The song mentioned regarding Sovngarde is a real song (except relating to Valhalla, naturally) called "Valkyrie Daughter" by SJ Tucker. Later on, I'm hoping to use more of my own scenes (I still haven't finished the main quest of Skyrim yet, heh). Reviews are much appreciated!_


	2. Chapter 2

Sottë breathed heavily as they emerged from the natural cave they had paced through. The musty air had given way to a fresher, freer air. She had not experienced such an adrenaline rush in a long time: facing bears, Imperial soldiers and torturers. The blood and the bodies terrified her, with a strong aftertaste of adventure and experience.

"Wait!" Ralof beside her panted from the exertion, gesturing for her to halt. "There he goes! Looks like he's gone for good this time. "

The dragon that had appeared beforehand soared off, over the hills and out of sight.

"We'd better clear out of here." He continued. "My sister Gerdur runs the mill in Riverwood, just up the road. I'm sure she'd help you out." Sottë nodded in silence. He paused to turn to her for a short moment.

"You know, you should go to Windhelm and join the fight to free Skyrim. You've seen the true face of the Empire here today." She did not nod this time, yet mulled the thought over in her head.

"If anyone will mean what the coming of the dragon means, it's Ulfric." Ralof added. They chose their respective forks of the road, Sottë turning before she did so.

"May Talos guide you, Ralof." She attempting to say in a grand manner, gesturing a motion of traditional strength with a clenched fist towards her chest.

* * *

><p>It was about an hour past midday when Sottë managed her way to Riverwood. The screeches of the ancient dragon and the dying screams of men still rung in her ears like an inescapable tune. The dissonance of the benign sight of Riverwood was both welcoming and unfamiliar in that she had spent too long out of the confines of safety and a warmth hearth. Her wanderer's foot was already starting to itch, she could feel it.<p>

She passed as gently as the very sight of Riverwood, passing chickens and children as she did so. She remembered Ralof's instructions, to pay a visit to his sister's family home and be paid with hospitality. Sottë passed over a small rushing stream and stopped outside a modest house situated conveniently to the lumber mill.

She saw the somewhat familiar form of Ralof to the back of the house, talking to a woman she assumed to be his sister. They both acknowledged her with nods, in too heated a conversation to pause.

"Gerdur, I'm fine. At least now I am." Ralof was assuring her in hushed tones.  
>"Are you hurt? What's happened?" The blonde woman wrung her hands nervously as she turned her head to look at Sottë. "And who's this? One of your comrades?"<p>

Sottë attempted a warm smile that seemed to herself more a grimace. This only caused Gerdur to regard her with a thinly-veiled look of suspicion on her face.  
>"Not a comrade yet, but a friend...I owe her my life, in fact."<p>

Sottë curtly nodded at his attempt to lighten the mood.  
>"Is there somewhere we can talk? There's no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials." Ralof turned back to his sister.<br>"You're right, follow me." Gerdur started towards the edge of the land by the river. "Hod! Come here a minute! I need your help with something!"

"Ralof? What are you doing here? I'll be right down!" A voice came from the lumber mill.  
>Sottë allowed them privacy as she wandered towards the bigger parts of the river. Racing sticks and twigs rushed forth from the bridge on the outskirts of the village, probably thrown down by the village children she had just passed. She found her thoughts to be constantly drifting back to Helgen. She did not find peace in her own escape yet none of her fellows. It disturbed her that they could have been killed by the Army, or worse. She shuddered despite the warmer air, returning to watching the water rush past her.<p>

"Uncle Ralof!" A childish and breathless voice was approaching. A young boy, one who looked much like Gerdur came to a halt in front of his uncle. He was amazed to see his relative once more, that was apparent. "Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?"

The young woman at the river's side felt her stomach squirm at the seclusion she felt.

"Excuse me," Sottë breathed. "I must take my temporary leave now."

It was Gerdur who looked up immediately to bid her farewell. She smiled gently, one that did not oppose her returning if she so wished. She gently and slightly bowed her head in a small thanksgiving as she returned to her family. Sottë knew what she must do: she would make her way to the stables outside the village, hire the carriage and journey to Windhelm for her purpose of fighting for freedom. It would not be an easy or short journey, but taking a carriage seemed a less dangerous option on her low resources and poor armor.

* * *

><p>The journey to Windhelm had been colder than she had anticipated. It had been too long to her since she had gone to the more frozen north of Skyrim that was her birthplace (even if her home village was no more), and not doing so had seemingly softened her bones. She kindly thanked the carriage driver as she left his cart with her thighs and backside aching from the journey.<p>

But still, it felt rather nice in an odd way to be returned to a snowy (and in her opinion, truer) part of Skyrim. The green and pleasant land did not suit her. As soon as she had felt herself a spare part to the family in Riverwood she knew what she must do. Sottë had forged her path to Windhelm to join the Stormcloaks, the very order she had danced around properly defining in her own terms ever since she was old enough to possesses her own thoughts and opinions as a young adult. But now, as a young woman, she was certain in what she must to do to help protect her home for the future generations of Nords, perhaps even all peaceful races that would come. But she did not know; did she believe the Imperials could hold peace towards her?

These thoughts accompanied her into the Palace of the Kings. Anxiety bloomed within her rattled stomach as she realised the grandiosity of her location. If she remembered her mother's history lessons as well (which she racked her brains in an attempt to), she was in a very old and respected place. Other than that, she knew that she trod in the hall of the Jarl and his people, and had a right to as such. Even so, Sottë swallowed the lump that threatened her throat's speech to seem a more dignified and apt warrior.

"Don't be so sure of that. We've intercepted couriers from Solitude. The empire's putting a great deal of pressure on Whiterun."  
>She loitered towards the southern end of the hall, trying to seem as if she was questioning sitting at the table, unsure if she was expected to interrupt the conversation with her own needs.<p>

"And what would you have me do?" This second voice was younger and less gruff than the first, but still as battle-weary.  
>"If he's not with us, he's against us." The first voice sounded again.<br>"He knows that. They all know that."

Sottë gently padded her way towards the northern end of the hall as the two men made their way to a side room to the left. She was happy, for once, to not be wearing her cumbersome armor. Borrowing some clothing from Gerdur as she left Riverwood had been a wise move after all, even if it was a little ill-fitting in places. She watched them as they went, listening for an opening that would not seem abrupt or rude.

"So we're ready to start this war in earnest, then?"  
>"Soon."<br>"I still say you should take them all out like you did Deadking Torygg." The older voice said. Sottë realized it later than she expected. Of course! Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl himself. She mentally scalded herself. She found herself overly curious if the rumors of the Voice happened to be true. Such a thing was surely a victory against the Empire, and no small one, either.

"How many of their sons and daughters follow your banner? We are their families."  
>Ulfric's expression lightened at the notion. Sottë subconsciously found her way towards the open doorway to the war room the men were in.<br>"Well put, friend, Tell me, Galmar, why do you fight for me?"  
>"I'll die before elves dictate the fates of men." The one called Galmar retorted cleverly. Sottë allowed herself to pass further away from the door as she sensed them about to return to the main hall. "Are we not one in this?"<p>

She could almost sense the thoughts passing through the Jarl's mind as he settled himself back on his throne in a slouching position.

"I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil." He growled, swiftly gaining momentum as he went along in his words. "I fight for their wives and children, who's names I heard whispered in their last breaths. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find their country full of strangers wearing familiar faces."

Sottë lowered herself onto the nearest bench at her disposal to remain out of sight and to allow herself a better chance to listen to the Jarl's words.

"I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves!" He shifted in his position to brace himself for the words he was about to say.

"I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing." Ulfric stopped to take a deeper breath. "I fight...because I must."

"Your words give voice to what we all feel, Ulfric. And that's why you will be High King." Galmar commented after a moment's reflection. Sottë nodded enthusiastically from her hidden position, feeling like some odd member of the Dark Brotherhood in the shadows. She would applaud if she knew the two better and would not seem completely insane if she did so.  
>"But the day words are not enough, will be the day when soldiers like us are no longer needed." Galmar said, seeming as if he could find the words for his own speech. Sottë rose from her seat and moved towards the foot of the throne, even if she still was a good distance away.<p>

"I would gladly retire from the world were such a day to dawn." Ulfric responded in a good humor.  
>"Aye. But in the meantime, we have a war to plan."<p>

The two lifted their heads to her when they noticed her.  
>"Only the foolish or the courageous approach a Jarl without summons..." Ulfric said, his voice returning to a professional monotone. "Do I know you?"<br>Rather embarrassingly, when she tried to speak, Sottë found her voice a croaky one from its lack of use on the long journey here. She coughed, hoping to hide her red face as she did so.  
>"I was at Helgen."<p>

His eyes lit with recognition.  
>"Ah yes, destined for the chopping block if I'm not mistaken."<p>

Sottë nodded once. "I was set free." She breathed. "I could've gone anywhere. I came here to fight the Empire." She accompanied this with an odd sort of drooping of her shoulders, an imitation of some mark of respect or bow.

"A fair point..." He trailed off there, deep in thought once more. "Speak with Galmar. So long as your criminal past stays in the past, and you fight for me with honor and integrity, we'll welcome you into our ranks."  
>Sottë felt her skin openly blanch. Had she really been so transparent? Did so many already take her for a thief, for some sort of newly-reborn wild nomad woman that would rummage through the most intimate pocket of a dead man for food to sate her hungry stomach? After these thoughts had passed her mind was when she knew and remembered what Ralof had said about her being caught in a similar fashion to the Stormcloaks, and by the same Imperials. It was after this that she knew herself to be a fool.<p>

She attempted her odd shoulder-bow again before finding Galmar. He had asked of her what she had expected: are you capable, do you think you are and will you? Survive and pass was her objective to a new life in a new reputation, one where whispers of shame associated with her family did not follow her everywhere. One where her own whispers, ones of greatness and loyalty were handed out easily. All she was to do was to aid her people in a noble cause, and the whispering would stop.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This was a rather filler-y chapter. After this, I'm quite happy to say I'll be able to write my own content and not that of the game, which is fantastic for me because the transcribing of the game dialogue is quite a pain. Thank you for reading and, as always, reviews would be appreciated for this rather boring chapter. Thank you very much for the reviews, story alerts and favs from last time!_


	3. Chapter 3

The front hall of Candlehearth Hall was eerily empty towards the older hours of the night, even if it was not quite morning when she arrived. Sottë found it to be a pleasant, if shadowy, place to lay her head for the night. Well, it possessed a warm hearth. She smiled warmly at the idea of a comfy bed as she set herself down on the barstool across from the rather tired-looking landlady.

"I'd like to rent a room," She smiled. The woman regarded her blankly yet not completely without warmth to her face as she stepped out from behind the bar to lead her to her room.  
>"This way."<p>

Sottë had rummaged nervously in her pack for the loose ten gold she needed, making a mental note to herself to purchase a coinpurse.

"Room's ten gold per night. Breakfast's included if you can get upstairs faster than the drunks do."  
>She nodded politely, uttering a small "thanks" as the woman left. As soon as the doors closed she untied the braids from her hair and removed the outer padding to her clothing. She threw her heavy pack to the foot of her bed with a metallic clang, allowing herself to meet the bed in about as much deft. She passed immediately into sleep without a painful thought to her mind.<p>

* * *

><p>It had not been long that she realized herself to be awake fully until she was journeying away from the frozen snows of the north. She had quickly drawn back her hair into its previous braids, armed herself, strapped on the outer layers of clothing and quickly left Candlehearth Hall before breakfast was even served.<p>

She was now checking her map in the heavy winds, attempting to hold its northern edges straight in the increasing winds. Her face was begin to numb from the temperatures and she willed the day to come when she could afford proper arms and armor to shield herself from cold northern Skyrim conditions she had forgotten she knew. Cyrodiil would have been a much easier place to live in, if she still so required against her better nature. A fight with an ice wraith had not been an easy fight for one such as herself; her skills had lay in thievery and sneak, not the more righteous path of the warrior she now took.

Her cheap Imperial sword (she would later marvel at the very oxymoron) had felt odd in her grasp again, as if an odd reunion with a former part of herself. Sottë did not know herself if this was a good or a bad thing. She charged against the white around her regardless, watching the clutters of snow in the wind shaping the snow already on the ground. All the while, Sottë prayed for the sighting of a carriage to help her quicken her journey. All she could do was to endure against the endless white of her vision, cutting down the odd wolf couple that threatened to nip at her throat if she did not until Windhelm was in view again.

The blood on her sword occasionally stained the snow as it almost slipped from her fingers in her fatigue. Her lower legs ached from climbing unsure terrain in the ice and snow. When eventually the walls of Windhelm came into sight, she took in a great breath to fill her spinning mind. Returning to the ways of an adventurer would be difficult, it seemed.

Sottë already liked the smell of Windhelm: it smelled of the forge and of the snow gently falling in the dusk air, a hearty and welcoming scent. Perhaps she could grow accustomed to the life of a townswoman. The great big stone buildings, the easily-accessible forge and a life other than that of a farmer. She thought of the possibility of where she could go next as her numb hand pushed open the grand door to the Palace of the Kings.

The inner hall was emptier than it had been when she had first arrived the previous day; the steward was notably absent and the man she remembered as Galmar also was nowhere to be seen. The only factor she noticed to be the same was that of the Jarl, still placed on his throne.

Sottë realized she could not leave. Such a thing would be rather rude, not to mention she was probably already spotted. She nervously glanced at the guards to her left and right. They returned her gaze blankly. She tried to inconspicuously turn on her heel and open the door to await the return of Galmar.

"You are the new warrior, yes?" A half-familiar voice from behind her sounded. Sottë turned, embarrassed, to face it.  
>"Yes," she spoke, voice echoing in the large hall. "Yes, I am."<p>

"Ah," Ulfric murmured. "Well, approach and let me have a proper look at you, then."  
>Sottë refrained from furrowing her brow as she approached the throne. She was unsure if social norm or custom required her to bow, and so she did not. She felt her cheeks burn as he assessed her, his eyes tracing her form.<p>

"You seem awfully young to be taking up arms in a civil war," he said.  
>"My lord, I am old enough to fight and old enough to wish to." Sottë explained herself, not as loudly or coherent as she may have wished.<br>"Indeed," he said. "And what age would that make you?"  
>"Nineteen." She cringed inwardly at the sound of her own words and how little they backed up her argument.<p>

"My lord." An acknowledgement came from behind her. She had not noticed them come in, but Galmar had returned with the steward in tow.  
>"I do apologize, Jorleif. That's the first and last time I ask you to join me on a hunting trip that ripe. They say it can be quite nasty for the<em> inexperienced<em>." He gave the man a kind pat on the back as he departed to his usual chamber to the west, laughing as he did so.  
>"I was only holding the gear." A rather pale Jorleif mumbled after Galmar in his defense as he place himself at the feasting table, shakily seizing a goblet of something strong.<p>

Sottë went to follow the cackling man yet found the voice of the Jarl to be turned to her again.  
>"So, what do you expect to find from joining the Stormcloaks?" Ulfric was speaking again, bringing a goblet up to his mouth with ringed fingers. She looked through her blank thoughts for an answer to the question.<br>"Allow me to rephrase the question, then; what do you expect from the town of Windhelm?"  
>Ah, she knew a thing or two of that. Boring things, at least.<br>"Well," she started after a pause, rolling her aching shoulders. "I would wish to learn blacksmithing."

Ulfric regarded her strangely, as if she was amusing. He hesitated before sipping his goblet. Sottë turned to speak to Galmar before she could become any more amusing.  
>"You will have to take the oath if you wish to become one of us."<br>Sottë nodded at the Jarl, assuring that she would. "I will."

He returned to sipping his goblet and Sottë felt his gaze burn on the back of her head as she departed to speak with Galmar.  
>"You have done well to prove yourself, Unblooded." He smiled at her plainly, as if he had heard their conversation. "Defeating an ice wraith is no easy task for a newcomer."<br>She nodded. "Perhaps easier than taking down the Imperial Army all at once, I would wager."

"Ah, it may seem so. An military Imperial's fighting style is simple and vulnerable, something you will learn to manipulate." He stood to his full height, no longer leaning on the war table. "Taking an oath will solidify your ambition as a Stormcloak, if you so wish. There is no turning back in joining the fight for the freedom of the sons and daughters of Skyrim. You will take your place as their staunch protector, never faltering in the face of the Empire and those who may shun you. The words of the oath are as follows-"  
>"I do swear my blood and honor to the service of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim. As Talos is my witness, may this oath bind me to death and beyond, even to my lord as to my fellow brothers and sisters in arms."<br>She could see the surprise beginning on the man's face.

"All hail the Stormcloaks, the true sons and daughters of Skyrim!" She finished, and a battle-weary Nord who had been attending let out a cheer despite the officious nature of the meeting.  
>"Now you're one of us." He had laughed a short laugh at the one who had cheered, joy evident in the occasion.<br>"Thank you."  
>"This means that you are able to tag along on a trip with me. Oh, and you're a Stormcloak now. You ought to look the part." He eventually found the light armor that he had prepared for her and Sottë felt the much-anticipated warmth of it as he handed it to her.<p>

"I have found the final resting place of the jagged crown. Well, I'm almost certain. Tomorrow, we will head to Korvanjund. I'll meet you there as soon as I'm finished up here."  
>She could not quite hide her happiness as she began to make her way back over to Candlehearth Hall to purchase a room for the night.<p>

"I heard Galmar send you on your first proper Stormcloak outing." Ulfric spoke. "Congratulations, Unblooded."  
>"Thank you, my lord." She nodded curtly in a polite manner.<br>"I imagine you are heading for a last drink before trawling through dungeons with an old man?"  
>Sottë allowed herself to smile fully. "Yes, indeed. Ale is all the more sweeter the night before battle."<br>She gave herself permission to leave to seek the warmth and music of Candlehearth Hall.


	4. Chapter 4

Instead of wandering directly to Candlehearth Hall as the sun set, Sottë decided to not take her usual path, instead weaving in small back alleys to the blacksmith quarter. A familiar sense of excitement and trepidation fluttered in her stomach as did so. She hadn't realized it at the time, but, as a little girl, she had loved the forge. The blacksmith at her home village had been a tremendously kind and newly-greying man. He would always warn the children, her friends, if they ran too close to the hot metal in their games of tag, yet he had always had a soft spot for her. She had been a quiet child, always so amazed by the sparking and breathing of the forge that he would occasionally allow her to watch the hammering of a horseshoe from a distance. Sottë no longer knew if he had survived what had happened to their village all those years ago.

The blacksmith quarter was still teeming with life: the forge breathed heavily, the castle blacksmith tapped at metal plating on the workbench, his apprentice watching with a close scrutiny. The stalls at the back of the quarter were all beginning to pack up their goods for the night, rolling up their goods in cloth wraps.

She tried to seem the browsing customer, generically wandering to the forge to glimpse at it nonchalantly. She really wanted to stare into its depths as if still that young girl amazed by forge fire. She wanted, most childishly, to pump the bellows and feel the air rush out of it and into the tuyere. She did not, though, fearing ruining the smith's work.

"'Help you, miss?"  
>Sottë looked up sharply from the forge.<br>"Oh, no, thank you." She paused, offering a small smile. The apprentice returned it politely, quickly returning to finishing the day's work.  
>"Well, actually, you wouldn't happen to have any heavy armor in stock, would you?"<br>The apprentice turned to her again.  
>"Aye," the castle blacksmith spoke instead, abandoning his work at the workbench. "No point asking the apprentice. Best come with me."<p>

He led her to the tanning rack, hauling out a tied brown sack.  
>"Fresh made iron and steel, plate or not, good price an' all. Hammered to perfection." He grunted, tossing aside his hammer from the workbench.<p>

"I'll take just the iron, please."  
>He unstrung the bag and piled the chosen plate upon itself, gauntlets and boots. It was a hefty sum of three hundred septims, but she found it rather quickly. She thanked the Nine for the small fraction of inheritance she still claimed even after the couple of years had passed. She suspected that was why she had inherited it. Out of the three Andrel children, she had been the sensible one. Always had. It would be worth the coin to be able to feel safe, not to mention warm. Taking carriages would have to be considered a luxury, and she may have to even eventually find a cheaper lodging than Candlehearth Hall. Inns outside of town were cheaper, yet less...officious.<p>

"Thank you for your custom." The blacksmith growled it almost angrily, handing her the armor blankly. She grunted a thanks as she stumbled her way back to Candlehearth Hall, almost tripping over the icy steps with her blocked vision and laden arms. Sottë used her back to open the door precariously, going to close it with the ankle of her left leg as she passed through it. Instead of doing so, she found herself colliding with someone and her new armor clattering to the ground and herself awkwardly staggering after it. Panic hit her.

"Oh, gods, I'm sorry!"  
>"It's quite alright," she breathed, slightly winded. Sottë blinked up at the man who had bumped her. He had a gruff look to him, as if he hadn't slept properly in a while. He had a bow strapped to his back, one she assumed to be for hunting.<p>

"I don't think I've bent it," he said, passing the armor from the floor to her. "New armor, huh?"  
>"Yes." She stated shortly. The man let out an "aah" at that, attempting to prolong the conversation.<br>"You off anywhere fancy?"  
>Sottë blinked at him, confused.<br>"No..." She replied, unsure. He nodded enthusiastically regardless.  
>"I just thought because of the..." he gestured to his own forehead in a circular motion. She first thought he was trying to imply her to be insane. After a moment, she brought a hand up to her own. Oh, the circlet.<br>"Mmh." Sottë said. "No, nowhere fancy. Thanks for helping me."  
>She brushed passed him to her room.<br>"Well, I could take you somewhere fancy, if you like."  
>"That's quite alright, thank you." She tried to make it sincere as she placed her armor quickly on her bed, handing the landlady ten septims before retiring.<p>

Sottë quickly washed her face when she awoke with a bowl of water left by the serving girl in the middle of the night. She dressed in her new Stormcloak garb, reveling in its warmth. She quietly padded out of her room, closing the door softly behind her. Sottë sensed that it was before sensible waking hours, the light from the windows suggesting a small sunrise.  
>"'Morning, miss." The same ageing woman who welcomed her was pinning up a festive wreath behind the counter, her brow furrowed in concentration.<br>"New Life Festival decorations in Last Seed?" Sottë asked.  
>"Oh, no," the woman grimaced. "It's Nils', that's our cook, birthday. I always like to decorate the place to seem a bit more festive."<p>

She emphasized her hard work by dusting her hands as soon as she finished pinning up the wreath. Sottë bid goodbye to her landlady and made her way to the cart by the Windhelm Stables. Perhaps Gerdur in Riverwood would be so kind to help her get on her feet properly. Ralof would want to know if they were to fight side by side again, too, she supposed. At least this time the journey in a cart was somewhat comforting, perhaps due to the pre-sunrise state they existed in. She at least welcomed a warm bed in between the road, taking a cart had been an added luxury compared to walking, too.

She nodded silently to Frodnar as she passed him, a welcome between two unlikely warriors.

Ralof was at the cooking pot when she entered. He looked over his shoulder as she entered. Gerdur looked up from her place at the table.

"We've heard about you." Gerdur rose from her seat, arms held to Sottë in a gesture of mirth.  
>"A proper Stormcloak now, eh, Unblooded?" Ralof smiled kindly over his shoulder. Sottë nodded enthusiastically.<br>"Yes. I see word travels quickly." She grinned. Ralof returned his gaze to stirring the pot.  
>"Fantastic." Gerdur paused.<br>"The name's Sottë, by the way." She added, realizing they did not even properly know her name.  
>"Welcome, Sottë." Gerdur smiled. "I would ask you to stay for breakfast..."<br>"Ah, I know when I'm not wanted, I'll be off-"  
>"No! You are welcome to stay here. It's just," she paused. "The Jarl of Whiterun needs to know of the dragons, if news has not reached already. I fear for Riverwood if he does not know. That dragon could be headed for Whiterun any time soon."<br>"Of course." Sottë said. "Anything to repay your hospitality. I shall set off this afternoon."

She felt the last sentence a half-lie, for she intended the journey to Whiterun first as a matter of urgency. It was nearer, and she would immediately follow to Korvanjund.

* * *

><p>"Farengar! Farengar, you need to come at once; a dragon's been sighted nearby. You should come, too." The interruption of Sottë's conversation with the court mage came in the form of a dark elf female.<p>

By the time they reached Jarl Balgruff, he was already in conversation with a young guard.

"Tell him what you told me, about the dragon." The woman from before interrupted again.  
>"Uh, yeah, that's right. We saw it coming from the south. It was fast. Faster than anything I've ever seen. It seemed to be circling overhead; I've never ran so fast in my life."<br>"Good work son, we'll take it from here." Jarl Balgruff nodded to the guard. "Irileth, gather some guardsmen and get down there."  
>Irileth nodded. "You there, with us; you're the only one here with previous experience with these things."<p>

The air around the West Keep was no different to that of any other keep in any other hold. The Last Seed air was brisk, but no different to any other hold's. Flames dotted the landscape in a way that did not bring normality into the situation.  
>"No, get back! It's still here somewhere. Shor's bones, Kynareth save us; here he comes again!"<br>She barely had to time to register the words when she saw the beast appear. It was different to the one of Helgen: it was smoother in both roar and form, more juvenile and unknowing. The weak arrows of the men failed to hit the fast-moving object, not piercing its thick skin when they did. It roared in indignation, angry at the attempt on its life, expressing such by spewing a fiery breath.

Its flapping wings caused a mighty gale as it attempted to land to pick them off, throwing her hair back. Arrows had a small yet better affect on it now. Sottë sped to its back, plunging one of her two swords into the beast as she attempted to get closer to i, making sure to properly drive through its innards. Its head flew upwards a flashes of dragon mythology flew through her head. _The heart of a dragon lies on its right side_. Regardless of the truth, she thrust her second sword into the beast's left side, its crying growing more violent. It would fight her off with all of it possessed. It thrashed, panicked, against the sword, only serving to drive the wound deeper. She herself was completely vulnerable, face shielded from the blood that had spattered her in the gory attempt. Despite herself, she dragged the two swords to meet. Her biceps began to quiver with the force of it, her teeth tightly together. Sottë could feel its sapping strength in a previously unfelt manner, its very lifeforce dropping away like shed skin. Numerous arrows still followed, and she prayed for them to miss her. She heard Irileth's shouting voice above the fire and destruction. The dragon roared, enraged, as the blood followed, a certain sign of a sapped lifeforce.

In exhaustion, what could have been both of theirs, the dragon began to fall. She looked up only long enough to see the terrified look on an unhelmeted guard's face as he quickly drove himself out of the way of the bloodied mess and heap of gore and death.

Sottë gathered her breath, not quite realizing the extent of the situation. Silence amongst the crackling of flames finally hit them. The dead dragon rested at her feet, her swords now as bloody as the dragon.

"Look at that!"  
>The scales of the dragon, they were shedding? Sottë squinted in confusion.<br>"Everybody! Get back!"  
>Its very skin, hide and scales were rapidly melting. What Sottë had presumed as its life force drained away, gravitating towards her. She blinked, bewildered. A skeleton rested in the same position as the newly-dead dragon. Irileth came out of her cover.<br>"I can't believe it you're...Dragonborn!" The same guard who had managed to move out of the way of the falling dragon was addressing her.  
>"What? No, I-no! I simply..." Sottë stumbled out from the wreckage, noting her own limp mentally. "No..."<br>"You slayed the dragon...took its power. That's what you did, isn't it?"  
>"I...don't know what happened to me."<br>"There's only one way to find out; try to Shout."

Sottë's mind instantly flashed back to Helgen. The one she followed, Ulfric, had killed the High King with his Voice had he not?  
>She summoned the power she had received from the dragon attempting to articulate it through her own obsolete vocal cords.<br>"That's it! That's a Shout!"  
>"Hmhf." Irileth voiced herself for the first time in a while. "Some of you would be better off keeping quiet. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me."<br>"That really was shouting; she truly must be Dragonborn."

Sottë was unsure who was speaking about her now. All the men in the same uniform in such a rush of adrenalin hazed things.  
>"You'd better get back to Whiterun right away, Jarl Balgruff will want to know what happened here."<p>

* * *

><p>Sottë had purchased her own horse in the stables outside Whiterun. She could afford to. Her lockpicks would apparently go unused. She was the Dragonborn; she was the thane of Whiterun. She could afford to be a wealthy woman now, not to worry about from where her next meal would come. Life was picking up for her, it seemed, even if this Dragonborn business seemed like trouble. She rolled her sore shoulders as she powered her way to Windhelm. The Stormcloaks had been her first thought after leaving Dragonsreach. With luck, Galmar and the men would wait for her if she seemed to be late. She dug her ankles into the flank of her horse to drive it on faster.<p>

Her lower body had begun to ache as she advanced down the hill towards to Korvanjund, heaving herself off the horse. She recognized Galmar and Ralof amongst the soldiers, grinning as she heaved herself down from her steed.  
>"'Bout time!" Galmar grunted. "You ready to spill some Imperial blood for Skyrim?"<br>Sottë panted, out of breath from the rushed journey. "I'm ready."  
>"That's what I like to hear." He began to walk in the direction of the higher ground.<p>

"Keep your wits about you and watch your shield-brother's back. Ulfric Stormcloak is counting on us to bring him back that crown, and that's exactly what we're going to do. Follow me, quickly and quietly now." Galmar's pace turned to a run, and Sottë withdrew her swords in a rush of adrenalin. She would have enjoyed staying to admire the old ruins had time not been of the essence.

The inside of the place was no different to what she had expected, either. It was warmer and less treacherous due to it being inside, but the Imperial soldiers still dotted the place as they had outside. Sottë found herself to fight only, not think until they found themselves in a more gently archaic area of the ruin.  
>"What in the nine holds is that?" One of the soldiers seemed bemused.<br>"Draugr. Ain't you ever seen one before?"  
>"No...and I'm not sure I'm better off for it now neither."<p>

"Steady. A few dusty bonewalkers aren't going to stop us any more than the Imperials did." Galmar growled. They all breathed heavily as their breath fell in its normal pattern. As soon as the thought passed through her mind, they began their faster pace throughout the ruin. Sottë shuddered as she looked at the twisted or calm respective faces of different draugr. They were horrid in that they did not move yet seemed so...human.

The ruin gave way to a grand yet small hall, etching carved on its walls.  
>"Ah! The hall of stories...we must be getting close now."<br>"Oh! I've heard of this!" The female soldier from before was speaking again. Sottë nodded at her in agreement to show their shared familiarity.  
>"They say these walls show the history of the ancients who built this place." Sottë breathed, speaking for the first time since they entered. The rest blinked at her (or she assumed the helmeted ones did) in surprise. "I think."<p>

Sottë crossed the chamber to the grand door, allowing her hands to rest against it.  
>"Hmm, yes, well, one thing at a time. Any of these carvings show a crown?"<br>Sottë withdrew the claw she had placed in her pack minutes beforehand from her somewhat small interest in antiquities. Or an interest in septims, she was not decided. The others stared at her once more as the door clicked open, sliding lazily as if it had not been opened in this era. She grinned at their surprise and shrugged to illustrate her minimal effort.

"Good job!" Galmar half-laughed. "Alright everyone, keep your guard up. No telling what we'll find down here."

It was even more eerie than the main floor, if that was even possible. Vines crept around corners, cracked ancient stone that had not seen mortal feet in an age could be strained under their weight for all she knew. Eeriest of all was the throne situated between two coffins in the center of the room.  
>"Amazing!" Sottë gasped. "This draugr is so...unlike the others we've is rather odd."<br>No sooner had the words escaped her lips had the very draugr heaved himself from his throne weightily. Sottë's eyes widened, hands flying to her swords.  
>"Look out! Draugr!"<p>

The lids of the coffins fell open, permitting two more ancient draugr to the fray. Picking off the weaker two was the easier task, allowing herself to sink her sword into flesh that felt neither spirit nor skin. Sottë shivered as the two fell, the main and kingly draugr their only opponent.

She withdrew her swords from the final, weaker draugr and rounded upon the king.  
>"Ro...Do!" She immediately recognized a Shout from his decayed lips as soon as it flung her backwards in pain, almost sending her to the floor. Sottë regained her footing, charging instead towards the main draugr and sending one of her swords to its one of her swords to its skeletal throat. He attempted to Shout once more as Sottë plunged the other sword into where she assumed his heart once was. A shudder shot through her once more.<p>

When he did eventually weaken and drop it was unceremonious. Galmar was already wrenching the crown from the thing's head and handing it to her gently.  
>"Get to Windhelm with the crown as quickly as you can. Tell Ulfric he owes me a drink."<br>Sottë beamed at him, satisfied with their work. "I think I owe you all a drink." She watched him sheath his weapon. "Tell the men to bring themselves to Candlehearth Hall tonight; the rounds are on Sottë."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Woo, actual fighting. Thank you if you persevered long enough for the whole thing, I kind of feel like it was such a bore to read. Thanks to anyone who reviews or puts it on story alert, it really helps me to see where I'm going right and wrong. Reviews would be much appreciated, even if there's any particular quests you want me to include!_


	5. Chapter 5

The Palace of the Kings was no different to how it had been when she had been there the last time. Still grand and officious, as usual. Sottë had precariously balanced the crown within her shaking grasp as she entered, the crown being almost immediately seized by Jorleif as soon as he eyed her.

Ulfric, even from across the hall, regarded her in that odd manner, as if she was still very much amusing to him. She approached the throne, trying not to hiss her breath in too sharply when walking on her injured ankle.  
>"We recovered the Jagged Crown." Sottë flicked her head in the direction Jorleif had left. "I believe you owe Galmar a drink?"<br>He relaxed in his throne. "Damn him - the old bear was right!"

At that moment, Sottë shifted her weight too quickly onto her damaged ankle, her side twinging with pain, allowing a whisper of a grunt to escape from her lips. It must be wounds from the draugr's powerful Shout.  
>"Are you injured?" Ulfric sat up straighter in his throne, narrowing his eyebrows.<br>"N-no, I'm quite alright." Sottë waved him off, only later realizing her lack of composure and apparent respect around a respected Jarl. She opened her mouth to begin her next sentence.  
>"Have you ever properly been in the presence of a Jarl before...?" Ulfric interrupted her, leaning forward.<br>"Sottë. My name is Sottë Andrel. And no, I can't really say that I have." She half-lied.  
>"Yes, it was apparent at Helgen that you were not of such a standing, I mean no offence, but you had a tired look about you. It is the job of us nobles to be tired and not look it; you looked exhausted."<br>Sottë blinked at him blankly for a moment, confused.  
>"I am thankful to be near other beings again." Sottë nodded. A silence fell between them.<p>

"The men are headed to Candlehearth Hall tonight; I am unsure if even Galmar will return beforehand." She began pacing, as if practicing a deep military strategy.  
>"Candlehearth Hall, a fine establishment indeed. I may find my way there if there's room."<br>Sottë bowed her head in a half-nod of respect before attempting leave. She was beginning to suspect things would not be as easy as that.  
>"Will you be gracing your fellows with your presence also, Mistress Andrel?"<br>She resisted rolling her eyes. "Well, yes; Candlehearth Hall is where I'm living at the moment."  
>"Perhaps I will see you there." He said. She smiled politely, aching to have her first drink as she left.<p>

The same man who had bumped into her the previous night and sent her armor to the floor blocked the bar. He was talking to a group Nords and a few Dark Elves who listened intently. Sottë attempted to make her way to the stool by the bar at the back of the group, catching the end of the tale he was telling. There were a couple of others dotted throughout the room that she did not recognize as regulars.

"You can imagine our surprise when we found him on a stolen horse half-way to Elsweyr. Old fool mistook it when I said _'We should perhaps meet elsewhere next time'_."  
>A small ripple of laughter ran through the group as it dispersed. The man who had been telling the story decided to sit next to her. Sottë prayed he would not recognize her as she bent her head over her Nordic mead.<br>"You're the girl with the armor from last night." He observed. She nodded, teeth clenched at who interrupted her quiet drink. "I'm Stenvar."  
>Sottë forced a smile. "Nice to meet you, but I must be going...over here."<br>"Aren't you going to introduce yourself?" He called after her.

Sottë placed a septim on the bar for the drink she brought with her upstairs, placing herself on a bench next to a familiar Nord woman.  
>"You're..." The woman trailed off in thought.<br>Sottë grimaced inwardly, listening to the one bard at the end of the long room hitting drum to no particular rhythm.  
>"You're the Unblooded!" The woman near-exclaimed. Sottë felt her antisocial mood melt slightly at the woman's enthusiasm.<br>"Yes."  
>"I'm sorry, I get too excited at new recruits." She attempted to calm down to refrain from slopping mead down her front. Sottë smiled at her in spite of herself.<br>"I don't think you'll recognize me, I was sort of in a helmet," she paused. "But I was at Korvanjund. I'm Edda."  
>"Nice to meet you, Edda. I'm Sottë."<br>Edda grinned at her as a silence fell between them. More footsteps up the stairs broke their silence as Sottë was beginning to contemplate fidgeting with her armor.

Ralof entered, more of the men with him. He beamed at them, seeming to be thoroughly enjoying himself already. Edda already returned the smile enthusiastically. Sottë's mind drifted back to something she had not been allowing herself to dwell on; Whiterun's dragon. She had not taken the talk of her as a true Dovahkiin as true or meaningful, and she had no idea as to how it would affect her current situation. She already was beginning to gain responsibilities for the first time in a couple of years, something she could not forsake in favor of myth and legend.

She thought of the advice Jarl Balgruff had given her, to journey to High Hrothgar atop the very Throat of the World itself, no everyday or easy feat. It worried her that she was not able to control this particular part of her supposed destiny.

At what could not have been a more appropriate (or inappropriate, perhaps) she noticed the bard to be singing the few opening notes of "The Dragonborn Comes". Sottë felt the need to cringe. The men had not been as many as she imagined; the few with Ralof and Edda herself seemed to be all. The place was, however, significantly less full of any Imperials that usually found themselves in the place. She imagined there would be outrage over the issue of the Jagged Crown, and that made her almost giggle like a young girl.

She would assume it to be around two and a half hours in which she spent being introduced to more of the Stormcloaks. All were happy to have her joining them, some more naturally suspicious of her than the others, questioning her motives in long conversations. Sottë assumed that this was common procedure for the Stormcloaks; to pester and question until the subject relented. Or perhaps she drew that from their leader too much.

Edda was still the most enthusiastic Stormcloak she had met by a long shot. She had eventually lingered off to an avid conversation with the Dark Elf bard on the ballads they both knew, Edda gesturing as if playing some feverish musical instrument herself. Sottë tried to seem uninterested when she saw that Ulfric had entered the inn to much fuss downstairs. She would not lie and claim he did not interest her, even if he did seem to be thoroughly amused by her attempts at becoming a warrior of sorts.

The landlady who had been rather cold to Sottë when she had asked for the room for a second consecutive night was now fawning all over the man, much in feigned surprise flattery and shock that he had entered her humble inn. She instead focused on Nils, the cook, ascending the stairs and offered him a "happy birthday", to which he smiled and thanked her. The bard was now ending the last few notes of "The Age of Oppression", something Sottë felt rather grateful that it ended as soon as Ulfric had entered. It would be odd to hear a song that explicitly mentioned oneself.

She rose from her seat, rather feeling sore from sitting in the wooden seat for too long, and descended the stairs to sit in front of the bar. Sottë enjoyed the silence and peace of being uninterrupted, signaling for another drink to the man behind the bar. Her head was already a little more light from the strength of the first drink and of her lack of experience with it. To her dismay, Ulfric (after having successfully assured Elda Early-Dawn that all was satisfactory) placed himself next to her, not saying anything.

Sottë did not speak either, rather enjoying the unstated challenge of it all. Elda regarded them both with a look of concern, eyes flitting from one to the other.  
>"Would you like a drink, milord? Something to eat, perhaps?" Elda asked tentatively. He waved her off casually.<br>"No thank you, my good woman." He offered her a lazy grin and she bustled off to the rest off the inn quietly.

"That was fairly easy." Sottë said.  
>"I'm sorry?"<br>"To get rid of Elda. I wish she was as persistent as that to me."  
>"You don't particularly like social gatherings do you?" Ulfric asked jocularly. Sottë turned to face him.<br>"Of course not, in fact, I very much love them." She groaned sarcastically.  
>"Sarcasm. How lovely in a woman." He retorted. Sottë rose from her stool quickly. She gently settled back into afterwards, unsure of a correct response.<p>

"I'm not very much a gentle lady. I killed people today so that they wouldn't kill me and was relieved when they died. It was a chore to kill them." She grunted, taking a swig of a drink. She nearly had mentioned the dragon she had also slain.  
>"It's something we have to do. More people will try kill us as we get closer to driving out the Empire from our land." Ulfric said.<p>

"You never really talk much in your own words, do you?" Sottë grunted. She felt that herself in a less tipsy state would be completely embarrassed and mortified by her own words and how harshly they tumbled from her lips. "Always in quotes, really. As if someone is writing everything you say down and will quote your brave words regarding independence and freedom."  
>Ulfric shook his head. "So it's not what we're all thinking, is it? It's not even what you think?"<br>"I don't _even _know." Sottë shrugged, watching her hand clasp her drink on the bar.  
>"Alright then," he began. Sottë turned her face to his. "Just for tonight, I won't speak <em>in quotes<em>."  
>She smiled a real smile. "Excellent."<p>

After a moment of silence, he spoke again.  
>"How long are you planning on staying in Windhelm?" He seemed to be asking in a polite manner, to make conversation. Sottë shrugged, the last of a smile still on her lips.<br>"I don't know. Until my inheritance runs out, I suppose."  
>"You're an orphan?"<br>She had never thought of it like that. When one thinks of an orphan, they think of parents killed tragically at the same time. Her father had died when she was young and her mother only two years ago, and she had since come to terms with her grief.  
>"Well, I suppose I am."<br>Muffled noises from upstairs sounded, as if an argument was beginning. The man behind the bar looked up from his book with a look of terror on his face.

Ulfric signaled for his own drink regardless. Sottë imagined him to be much better than her with the stuff, having a good few years and experience on her.  
>"I'm afraid I don't rightly have alot of experience nowadays with drinking with a sister-in-arms." He sighed in mock-defeat.<br>"Do not think of me as one, then." Sottë sighed heavily. "Talos knows I've only been one for a day or two."  
>He nodded as he watched the barman attend to what was becoming a ruckus upstairs.<p>

"You don't plan on leaving already, do you?" Ulfric asked, genuinely sounding concerned.  
>"I don't know..." Sottë trailed.<br>"Tell me you won't leave, then." He said. It seemed an odd thing to say, and Sottë turned to him with an incredulous look on her face.  
>"How would I do that?" She asked, the incredulity creeping into her voice.<br>"Kiss me." He said, and said it casually.  
>"What?"<br>"You heard me." Ulfric said, taking the last casual swig of his drink. Sottë narrowed her eyes at him, seizing his free hand. She brought her lips to one of the rings there and quickly kissed it, trying to ignore some spark that shot through her. Sottë returned his hand.

"There, that's what you do to noblemen, is it not?" Her foul mood was returning as she turned back to the bar. It increased when one of the doors at the entrance heavily swung open, hitting the wall and allowing the cold weather in. She turned to tell the person to shut the door, but instead gasped at what she saw. Ulfric rose his head to look in the direction she was looking in when she did so.

A young woman was stood in the doorway for a fraction of a second before she collapsed into the warmth. Her cloak was damp from snow all over and even streaked with blood. It seemed to have taken all her strength for her just to keep it on from the winds. Sottë immediately rushed to her side, Ulfric aiding her at once.  
>"By the Nine..." Sottë breathed.<br>Ulfric scanned the woman for major injury, seeing her close-cropped brown hair tangled with blood and grime.  
>"You know this girl?" He asked Sottë.<br>"I-she's my little sister." Sottë replied, biting her lower lip to refrain from crying.


	6. Chapter 6

Sottë raised her head groggily almost as soon as she realized she was awake. She seemed to be lying in a plush and warm bed, the sheets all velvet greens and yellows with a unmistakably clean smell. That was what immediately tipped her off on that she was not in Candlehearth Hall. The lack of mysterious stains on the blankets was a dead giveaway.

She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, feeling her head twinge at the same time. The flitting light stung at her eyes and forced her awake. Sottë leapt from the bed as soon as she realized and had recalled the previous night. She remembered her sister and not much else. Her attire of her ragged grey clothing and bare feet suggested someone had to remove her armor, leaving her cringing profusely at the very thought as she made her way to the door.

It opened before she even had chance to place a hand on it.

"You're awake," Ulfric entered, shifting his tall frame through the door almost awkwardly, or perhaps he had the decency to feel awkward upon intruding on a woman's bedchamber. Sottë herself seemed less bothered by her dress, watching him avert his eyes in an attempt at subtle modesty.  
>"What hour is this?"<br>"You've slept a good night and a half; it is nearly the night again." He replied, eyes shifting to gaze fractionally down at her. "Don't worry, I was the perfect gentleman. I had my night maid remove your...armor."  
>She tugged at her matted hair, a result of it being left in its half braids overnight.<p>

"You must take me to my sister this moment." Sottë breathed, demanding of him in a pant and attempting to disregard all awkwardness. "My lord."  
>She added the last as an afterthought, suddenly realizing how exposed she felt in the cold as she shifted awkwardly around her injured foot.<br>"She rests only next door-"  
>"Thank you." She nodded her head in an attempt to leave.<br>"Wait!" It sounded like a command in battle as he caught her wrist, causing her to turn to him. An easily recognizable look of thinly-veiled anger flared to the girl's face momentarily, the image of his face and his words from the previous night burning into the back of her eyes.

"You do not wish to inform me the manner regarding which this young girl arrives unannounced and disrupts the very rebellion plans themselves? Is it really so urgent that she be attended to?"  
>She wrenched her wrist from his grasp as if he had burned her. He had thought, no, expected her to hiss something in retort in well-earned vitriol. Surprise hit him when he felt a breeze drift on his face and he found she had left his presence.<p>

Sottë gently closed the door behind her in an attempt of silence, hoping that no one nearby would catch sight of her and think her improper for leaving a bedchamber in a state of such undress, not to mention one the Jarl had only just entered.

The upstairs palace was magnificent, the only thought she had in the forefront of her mind. The stone kept out the harsh part of the cold and was a pleasure under her bare feet. She had no time to revel, and entered through the open doorway to her right.

This room was more modest; a single room with a lukewarm broth on the nightstand. It surprised her to see that the young woman's eyes managed to open when Sottë placed herself on the chair beside her, gazing down at the woman's frozen and stiff body in an odd amazement.  
>"Heddvild," Sottë said, placing herself gingerly into the chair. The girl formed a half-smile that caused her skin to blanch.<br>"Sister." She acknowledged meekly. It was no sooner that Sottë threw herself from the wooden chair, angrily pacing the floor and chewing at her bottom lip.

"By the Nine, sister, what have you done to yourself? Why are you in this cold and forsaken place? Windhelm is a cruel and bustling place, not suitable to one so young as yourself."  
>To Sottë's surprise, Heddvild forced herself upwards, just failing to sit upright.<br>"I need you, big sister." The girl grimaced. "Inna, I..."  
>Sottë's gaze quickly flew back to her sister. "Inna? What happened to her?"<br>Heddvild clenched her eyes shut. "I don't know."  
>"You don't know?" Sottë forced herself back into the wooden chair, drawing it closer to her sister's bedside. Her hand flew instinctively to tear at her hair. "You leave your older sister to freeze at home on the farm and yet you have managed to lose your own twin, my Inna. Talos, Heddvild, I understood you could be a fool but..." Sottë trailed off at the regret on Heddvild's face. The girl's eyes fell to stare at her locked and swollen fingers.<p>

"Inna managed to find herself a husband around six months ago. I saw her fleetingly since, short and regular times at first. She seemed genuinely happy, and her husband a nice man. Eventually, about a month ago now, she stopped seeing me altogether. I visited her husband's farm, their family home, even attempted to find any of his remaining family members' homes but they were gone. I knew nothing of the man and thought to myself _'What would Sottë do?'. _I managed to track you here and here I am."

Sottë listened intently, still gazing in horror at the woman's sickly appearance and locked joints. Her chest fell heavily and deep in an attempt to properly fill her bruised chest that was partly visible through her thin shirt. Sottë hesitantly picked up a thick broth that stood on the end table, her hand shakily grasping the fancy silverware spoon.  
>"You must eat." Sottë insisted, raising the laden spoon to her lips.<p>

"I'm scared Sottë. Scared that Inna's husband may not be what he appears. He claimed that he had an unmarried cousin and would set about contact for me to arrange a marriage," Heddvild's fingers twitched jerkingly, her voice gritty and rasping as it thickened with emotion. "I have heard no word from him since."  
>Sottë nodded, soaking in the words and lowering the broth and spoon back to the nightstand. She hesitantly placed her left hand on Heddvild's jerking fingers to steady them.<br>"Heddvild, it's OK." Sottë murmured in hushed tones."It's all OK, now. I have some power in this place. They claim me as a decent warrior within the Stormcloaks already. Dragonborn, some even have called-"  
>"Dragonborn?" Heddvild's eyes widened, her voice a whisper from the back of her throat. "By Talos."<p>

"How did you get to be in such a comfy place, Sottë?" Heddvild asked it after a silence with genuine concern. "You're not married, are you? Not to that Jarl?"  
>Sottë scoffed heavily in spite of the situation. "No, no I'm not; but I can help, Heddvild. Just let me help this time."<br>"I want you to." Heddvild's fingers eased in their twitching. "I want to help you. I want to become a Stormcloak as well."  
>Sottë immediately withdrew her hand, flying to her feet.<p>

"No. Absolutely not."  
>Heddvild's eyes widened in shock as she brought her left hand to rest with her right. "Why not? I'm old enough now-"<br>"You," Sottë breathed, resting her fingers on her temple. "Are seventeen years old. You do not know what is right for you."  
>"-and I still remember everything father taught us, even about smithing."<br>Sottë scoffed once more. "He died when I was barely old enough to remember, Heddvild. The only thing you have to remember him by is that mark on your hand from when you grabbed the hot metal when he was smithing."  
>She gestured to the girl's left hand she had brought to meet the other. Sottë instantly felt guilt at her words as she witnessed the girl's expression.<br>"Did you really know him, though, Sottë?" She whispered, her eyes still low and heavy-lidded.  
>"No, I did not, child." Sottë refrained from snapping too heavily.<br>"None of us did." Heddvild corrected. Sottë went to rise from her seat.

"He fought with them, you know, the Stormcloaks." Heddvild began. "He was their quartermaster-"  
>"Enough!" Sottë barked, allowing herself to fall back into her chair. "I will hear no more of this nonsense."<br>"You know I would not lie to you, sister." Heddvild murmured, her eyes never rising from her stiff and wasted finger joints. Sottë coughed to clear the lump in her throat.

"I apologize, Heddvild. Perhaps the Jarl will let you stay here if he is kind enough, but I-"  
>"Of course, the more the merrier!" A familiar voice was coming from the doorway. Sottë felt her cheeks darken. She stood up to face Ulfric. He seemed to have been standing in the doorway for a long time.<p>

"Excuse me, Heddvild." Sottë nodded down at her sister, no longer concerned for her life and assured she would heal as she passed the man and descended the first flight of stairs. He followed her, naturally.  
>"I cannot believe you would eavesdrop on a private conversation between me and my own sister." She spat, realizing she sounded more furious than she actually was.<br>"I apologize, I meant no disrespect." He precariously attempted to dot down the stairs as she did; a difficult feat.  
>"I suppose you heard everything. My father; a Stormcloak quartermaster! The very idea!"<br>Her voice was growing darker, more low in tone.

"Tell me his name. He may have, for all we know."  
>Sottë turned to narrow her eyes at the man, her matted brown hair barely being able to move.<br>"Where's my armor?"  
>Ulfric blinked at her, momentarily confused.<p>

"In the war room."  
>"Good." She began to descend the many stairs again.<br>"When were you going to tell me you were the Dragonborn?" Ulfric sounded genuinely inquisitive.  
>"I didn't plan on it because I'm not."<br>"I've heard you fight with the ferocity of one. I daresay you speak with the ferocity of one, too."  
>Sottë was silent.<br>"And you're too quiet now to tell me what's happening?" He said, scoffing himself.

She stopped to face him again. "I found a letter on my way to Candlehearth Hall last night. '_Master Aventus Aretino_,'" She began to recite the part of the letter she remembered in a high-pitched and exaggerated voice. "'_Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak wishes to express his deepest sympathies at the death of your mother, Naalia-'"  
><em>"I don't understand the relevance of the boy." Ulfric shrugged.  
>"That boy deserved better. He seems to have been disregarded with such neglect at such a young age by the only man in a position of power who could have possibly changed that." Sottë glared at him silently, her teeth clenched. "This is why I will not tell you the name of my father and this is why I know he was not a Stormcloak. He was a selfless man."<em><br>_"So you think of me as a selfish one?" Ulfric asked, subconsciously taking a step towards her as he did so. Her eyes fell from his in what seemed to be guilt. They roved over the stone floor, searching for an answer to that question.  
>"No," she said to the floor, to no one in particular. "Not <em>so<em> selfish."

Ulfric watched her shift awkwardly onto her uninjured foot. He cringed as he looked down at the injured ankle, seeing it of purples, blacks and yellows. He could count the untouched eyelashes on their lids without their kohl, trace the uncovered circles under her eyes and estimate the length of the weapon that had left that scar on her lower cheek if he so wished. He did wish. He was utterly entranced by her; her nearby warmth was something Ulfric hadn't realized he had gone without for so long nor had he realized how much he wanted it once more, not to mention how much he would welcome warmth from this woman. He could just close the distance between the two of them so easily...

Sottë's hand fluttered over her forehead, growing in speed as she became panicked.  
>"Where's my circlet?"<br>"What?" Ulfric muttered, still dazed.  
>"My circlet," she gestured angrily to her forehead, beginning her fast limp down the stairs once more. Something deep inside his mind groaned at the end of the close contact.<p>

"That cheap, burnt copper thing? It's with your armor, I ensured everything was kept in safety."  
>"It's not cheap." She growled over her shoulder. Ulfric chuckled.<br>"Of course it's cheap. It's what the lesser middle class ladies wear when they claim their parents were nobles and they are simply in a rough patch."  
>"Your velvet bedchamber is cheap." Sottë stated, her voice shaking off the warmth again as they met the last flight of stairs. She paused on the landing to berate him. "Your servants are cheap, your grand hall is cheap, the velvet tapestries cheap and your labyrinth palace cheap. You live an empty life because you disregard what is rich in spiritual worth and that is what makes you a sad and joyless little man."<br>He could stand her no longer. To attempt to illustrate her point to a somewhat selfish extent, he closed the gap between them, crushing his lips to hers in the utmost haste.

He was surprised to find that she relented at first, allowed his selfish kiss. A lie would be for her to insist he utterly repulsed her for he did not. His touch was unexpected but some odd new part of her. She pitied the inherent loneliness in his life and regarded herself as the only one to inform him of such. The others seemed to lack that intuition or personal care of the man. Whatever she thought of him, she understood that she enjoyed this unfamiliar gesture.

At first, she did not touch him as he kissed her, only eventually in some attempt to make him break his contact with a lingering push to the robed shoulders, and a hesitant one at that. He grinned at her in a way that suggested she was not as fiery as she let on.  
>"It will do you well not to do that again to me, milord." Sottë was devoid of warmth still, even though he could still feel the warmth that radiated from her body. The grin fell from his face. He would use his voice if it would only work. What was this woman doing to him? Her hands fell from his shoulders.<p>

Ulfric watched the girl limp pitifully quickly down the rest of the stairs to enter the war room, almost as bemused as the day he had met her.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry for the late update and thoroughly somewhat smushy chapter (action - fighting - will come into it soon, I swear)! It's actually the end of the school term here, so I am happy to say I will be able to update more frequently within the holiday period. Thank you to anyone who has and will review (it means a lot to me) and to all you story alerters. You guys are all awesome. ;)_


	7. Chapter 7

She had been gone nineteen days today. That was the amount of years older he was than her, Ulfric noted with some bitterness. He had begun to regret his old age and graying temples as if they were his own fault.

He had sent their newest member to Whiterun on an errand that he had originally intended for Sottë. Her younger sister of more than two years, Heddvild, had proved a willing and capable recruit since she had joined their ranks a matter of weeks ago. She had almost dispatched an ice wraith with as much ferocity, but he liked to think not as much as the Dragonborn could manage.

"Milord?" Someone was approaching his throne and Ulfric looked up in his casual slouch. Heddvild was only seventeen, he remembered, a small girl with her brown hair closely cropped to head like a boy. Her voice was sweeter and less low in comparison to Sottë's, yet there was still a familiar family accent in there. Their court physician had diagnosed Heddvild with rockjoint the night after she arrived and treated her for such. Her recovery had been a swift and expected one, yet her sister had not been around to see it take place. Ulfric suspected there was something more to the story, but he had learned from her sister not to investigate Heddvild's story further.

"Heddvild!" He beamed down at the girl, sitting up straight in his throne. "How's the joints?"  
>"Better, thank you, my Lord." She said, very formal in manner. So unlike her sister. Ulfric felt himself return to his slouch slightly in disappointment.<br>"I have good news for you. After word from Galmar it seems that we are truly ready to take place in this rebellion. You will join him in taking the city of Whiterun."  
>Heddvild lifted the corners of her mouth in a civil smile. "Thank you, my Lord. I'll try to make the Stormcloaks proud."<br>She did not leave as he had not dismissed her yet. "Any word on your sister, yet?"  
>"I was going to ask you the same thing, milord." The girl did not even grimace. Ulfric nodded, disappointment sinking in.<p>

"If I may, my Lord?" She gestured around them.  
>"Go ahead." He waved at her dismissively.<br>"My sister has always been prone to running away at time of distress; it's what she does. The only time she ever had someone run away from her was my twin and I after our mother passed over. Try not to take it personally."  
>Ulfric nodded, uncomfortable at discussing personal matters in clear earshot of everyone else yet pleased at what she was trying to do. She nodded curtly at him in turn, the correct response to one of his standing, he noted.<p>

* * *

><p>Sottë was burning. Everywhere was burning. They were pulling out her bones as she slept, she swore it. When she opened her eyes from sleep, she saw their hooded and blurred faces through a layer of red blood. Their faces sported twisted masks of terror as the two of them gazed down at her, one holding down her forearms and the other opening the flesh on her arms with little care to her wellbeing. It was holding something...something like an embalming tool to slice open the flesh on her arm.<p>

She wanted to thrash out against them but she found she could not move any muscle of her body. The burning was immense, stemming from the gaping wound in her bicep to the rest of her body. Her very bones were fracturing easily and being wrenched with little care, the pain was rolling on her tongue, begging for a scream. Her lack of movement made her eyes water, threatening to spill over. Sottë could see the red of the open incision on her forearm and felt her eyes roll into the back of her head neatly from the shock and the consuming pain.

When she awoke, they were gone. Her first instinct was to roll up the sleeve on her right arm to check for scars. There were none. She breathed a sigh of relief, also realizing she could now move. Sottë felt strange, regardless. Her temperature was up and she had sweated right through her bed sheets, which were now wrapped around her lower body. She detached herself from them carefully, allowing herself to fall back into much-needed sleep.

* * *

><p>"Do you still wish to find your sister?" Heddvild looked up from sharpening her two-handed sword at Ulfric when he asked the question. It had amused many of the men, he could tell, when this small seventeen-year-old girl had chosen to fight with a greatsword. Ulfric's head was bowed over whittling a small chunk of wood. "Inna, I mean."<br>"It is why I am here, I fight for her, my Lord." Heddvild murmured, returning her gaze to her sword. He nodded, deep in thought. They sat accompanied in the great hall with a handful of other Stormcloaks. It had been the first day in fifty-nine days since he had last eaten with the rest of them. The same amount of time Sottë had been gone.  
>"When will we take Whiterun? I'm getting tired of all this waiting around." Galmar slammed his tankard down harshly, causing mead to slop over its edges.<br>"Soon, friend." Ulfric said. Galmar began huffing about the Imperial Army, as he was prone to do.  
>"It's going to be soon, I can feel it. We just need to wait for Balgruuf to make the next move." Heddvild grunted from her sword and whetstone. Ulfric felt the rest of the men cringe or smile at her naïveté.<p>

* * *

><p>Sottë exhaled in relief as she felt the bandit's body weaken around her sword in his shoulder. Killing had become second nature to her now, putting down bandits who attack her as she stormed through the Rift on her noble steed. She did not pause to wonder why they attacked her. Upon being ambushed before descending in a hilly area, Sottë quickly rummaged through the last bandits' supplies for food. The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps was like the sound of the wind for a moment in that she paid it no special attention. Angry breath she imagined puffed out in the frost drew nearer to her, so quickly that she only raised her eyes from rummaging for food when the person's sword was slicing across her face. Sottë bit her tongue in her hurry to withdraw her right-hand sword, the sting of the cut almost bringing tears to her eyes. She stuck the figure with the sword eventually, feeling the warm blood trickle down her face in a way that oddly reminded her of tears. She cringed as she mounted her horse, her right arm still aching.<p>

The sound of the horse's hoofs over grassland was satisfying, much more so than that of the endless Winterhold snow. She hesitated in which direction she took away from Riften; northwards would lead her back to Windhelm, but if she turned west now she could journey to the Throat of the World and perhaps even fulfill her destiny while she was thinking too much, she tugged at the horse's reins and ordered it in the new westward direction.

* * *

><p>"We march on Whiterun tonight."<br>"My Lord?" Heddvild looked up from sharpening her greatsword, nervously eyeing Ulfric's whittling knife that he had allowed to clatter to the table.  
>"We must take Whiterun tonight; we are prepared and we have been for weeks. I- we must stop waiting for our destiny to properly activate."<br>Heddvild started laughing, drawing to her own feet. "We march! We march on Whiterun tonight for the glory of the Stormcloaks!"  
>Ulfric felt some of the men eye her as if she were insane.<p>

"Gather the men," Ulfric told Galmar. "Inform them of where to meet. The camp, is it-?"  
>"It is still set up, my Lord."<br>"Then it's settled- we storm Whiterun and show Balgruuf how Skyrim really treats her enemies!"  
>There was a cheer from the men.<p>

"My Lord, you can't possibly be thinking of joining us? It _was _a lightly-guarded city-"  
>Ulfric furrowed his brow. "Yes, Galmar. I understand. I'm not allowed to do any actual fighting."<br>"I apologize, my Lord." Galmar murmured. "We'll bring them all back home one way or another."

It was eerily quiet inside Whiterun once the guards had been routed outside the city walls. Galmar, accompanied by Heddvild and the five other Stormcloaks that made it to the walls at the same point as them gazed around them in wonder as they continued their advance to Dragonsreach. The place was devoid of life, with no doors fluttering in the breeze to signify recent use.

"This is not right." Heddvild said, in a whisper, twisting her hands over her greatsword.  
>"They knew we were coming." Galmar grunted.<br>"Perhaps Balgruuf warned his people of an attack on the city." A soldier to the back sniffed.  
>"I thoroughly doubt it."<p>

"There's got to be someone left here. Edda," Galmar motioned to a female soldier at the back of the group. "This is your neck of the woods, correct?"  
>"Yes, sir."<br>"Any idea as to why it's completely deserted?"  
>"None, sorry, sir. It's been a good few years since I lived here." Edda said, her voice metallic from the obstruction of her helmet.<p>

Galmar growled something in annoyance.  
>"You there, beggar!" He called.<br>A hawk-nosed elderly man, about the same age as Galmar, looked up to meet their gaze. Heddvild felt a pang of guilt, having not noticed him. He sat with his wife; pathetic and wretched. She watched her husband speak with a sadness to her.  
>"We heard that the Jarl issued an order that everything gots ta leave Whiterun weeks ago. Stalls shut with 'em apparently, we ain't seen no one since we got here about a week ago." He brought his bare arm to wipe his running nose.<br>"Why didn't you and your...wife here leave?" Galmar asked. The other man regarded the crone incredulously.  
>"She ain't my wife." He sniffed heavily and heartily. Heddvild cringed at the sound of the mucus re-entering his system. "Helped the poor girl out with a coin or two to get her here. Split the fare for a cart, if that's what you want to know."<p>

The Stormcloak named Edda jumped as the sound of dropping metal clanged around the stone of Whiterun. When she looked out from the sharp slits in her helmet, she saw Heddvild allow her greatsword to slip for her grasp and onto the floor without much constraint.  
>"What are you-" Edda began.<br>"Sottë?" Heddvild gasped. Edda could practically see the girl's eyes bugging in surprise. Her footsteps sounded not too long after she dropped her weapon.

"Sister." Sottë acknowledged her.  
>"Sottë, by the Nine, what have you done to yourself? When you left the palace, I didn't expect this..."<br>Heddvild was crouching down in front of her older sister, inspecting her. She wore the same ragged robes as her beggar friend. Her brunette hair was not in its usual braids at the back of her head but matted and crusted with earth about her face. Her face was smudged with dirt and dried blood, and she was notably lacking shoes.

"What is this? Are you taking Whiterun? Where are the rest of the men?" Sottë's words were rather slurred and rushed, and her breath reeked strongly when Heddvild felt it come into contact with her face. The smell of her unwashed body was strong and stale in the air.  
>"By the gods, Sottë..."<br>"May I assist you, sister?" Sottë asked, slurring. She turned to face Galmar. "I can assist you, can't I, Galmar?"  
>Galmar furrowed his brow, obviously embarrassed by the girl's situation and that someone he had fought alongside was in such a state of disarray.<p>

"No, no, girl," he began, eyes averted to the floor. "You stay here. Afterwards we'll put you on a cart back to Windhelm."  
>"No no no, I can't go back to Windhelm," Sottë rose from her feet, seizing Heddvild by the arms to rise herself from her position on the floor. "Heddvild, I can't <em>go <em>back Windhelm."  
>The back of the Stormcloak group had started to wander off to allow the two sisters more privacy.<br>"Sottë I cannot solve this problem now. You cannot aid us in the taking of Whiterun in your...state and you cannot remain a beggar. Go home."  
>Sottë blinked in the shock that was exaggerated by her drunk mind. "Go home? Windhelm is our home now, is it to be?"<br>Heddvild shook her sister's vice grip from her arm.

"Get on a cart and go home, sister." She rummaged around in her pack for a moment. "Here, take this and I'll see you back home."  
>Sottë gazed blankly at her, clutching a coinpurse in the hand that had gripped her sister's arm.<br>"Goodbye." Heddvild said curtly, continuing her pace towards Dragonsreach, only stopping to retrieve her weapon. The soldiers followed her, Galmar overtaking them guiltily, trying not to look back at the girl they half abandoned.

As they turned the corner into the larger section of Whiterun which contained the market and Dragonsreach itself, it was quite evident that chaos had hit. Heddvild felt the heat from the fire as it hit her face, blinking at it. Some of the other Stormcloaks must have gotten here before they did.

They met more of their people on the grand stairs to Dragonsreach, quickly fighting the thinning layer of guards in their path.  
>"Come on!" Galmar barked, quickly forming the front of the two halves. With all her strength Heddvild swung her greatsword, hearing it thud off the armored head of one guard as he fell to the ground.<br>"Get inside!" Galmar was issuing commands again, his voice ragged as he worked on breaking down an obstructing barricade.

Chaos of a differing sort was taking place inside Dragonsreach. Guards fought Stormcloaks already, with Balgruuf himself already dressed in what Heddvild assumed to be his finest armor.

They fought for too long, Heddvild's biceps began to ache just from the effort of swinging the sword and from the impact of when it caught someone. She was unaware of who had been fighting Balgruuf, but she saw his form awkwardly clunk to the ground as he regained his breath.  
>"Enough! That's enough. I surrender...I surrender." He breathed. "Everyone stand down, that's an order!"<p>

"Balgruuf!" A huskier voice issued from the unbloodied and unarmored man who entered next. He was finely dressed and well-groomed, obvious traits of a noble.  
>"Vignar Gray-Mane." Balgruuf murmured. "Your family was noticeably absent from the walls."<br>"You think this is personal? The Empire has no place in Skyrim...not any more. And you? You have no place in Whiterun. Skyrim needs a High King who will fight for her, and Whiterun needs a Jarl who will do the same."  
>Balgruuf paused to mull over his words. "Tell me Vignar; was all this worth it?" Heddvild looked around the room to survey their surrendered foes. Her eyes stuck on the dark elf housecarl. "How many of those corpses lining the streets did you once call friend?"<br>"There is a burning city that needs a government." Galmar growled.

Heddvild narrowed her eyes in confusion; the housecarl was gazing past the men with a shocked look on her face. Heddvild followed her gaze, seeing her to be watching her own sister. Sottë was still in her ragged robes yet she had managed to find a sword amongst the dead. She was splattered with a good amount of blood despite having gone the whole battle unnoticed by Heddvild. She looked utterly wild; probably something her armor usually went some way to cover. She smiled at her younger sister before padding out of Dragonsreach, taking the sword with her.

"Get over to Windhelm, girl. Tell Ulfric of our victory." Galmar was speaking to her.  
>"Of course, sir."<br>Heddvild wasted no time in following her sister out of the grand doors.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Due to the short and filler-y nature of this chapter, there will the next one up sooner than usual. I just needed to get this one posted, it was beginning to bug me!_


	8. Chapter 8

"What's going on here?" Heddvild coughed, clearing her throat to be able to yell over the cheer of the crowd.  
>"They heard about Whiterun," the beggar replied. "Some of them a bit too merry, I would wager."<br>Heddvild smiled and nodded at her as she left her company, attempting to push her way through the crowds of grinning, red-faced folk. A few of the men even jeered down at her once they realized she was a woman.

She had just gotten back to Whiterun, and the journey had been long considering the short distance. Heddvild hated traveling by cart, or traveling at all for that matter. She would hate to admit that perhaps staying behind at some unknown tavern had incapacitated her for that one night, too.  
>"Excuse me." She muttered, squeezing her way through the crowds of joyous citizens.<p>

A brunette she recognized was walking past her towards the blacksmith quarter. Even despite her newfound cleanliness and fancy attire, she recognized her instantly. Her gait was always the same; awkward and heavy. She had never gotten how to carry herself properly.

"Sottë!" Heddvild called after the brunette. "Sottë! Wait!"  
>The woman froze as soon as she heard her name. When Heddvild reached her, the look of a startled deer was only fading away from her.<br>"Heddvild."  
>"What...how have you...?" Heddvild spluttered, gesturing to all of her. "What's happened to you?"<br>Sottë seized her sister by the elbow and began pulling her in the direction she had been walking.  
>"I met someone." Sottë murmured, almost dragging the girl to the blacksmith quarter. "He owns a small house here in Windhelm. He gave me some clothes and allowed me to wash the dirt off myself from Whiterun."<p>

She looked rather ashamed of herself for falling into homelessness.  
>"He..." Sottë could not finish her sentence. Heddvild stopped to look her properly.<br>"He what? Heddvild asked, worry pooling in her stomach.  
>"He has asked me to marry him."<br>"What?" Heddvild yelled incredulously. The merchants in the blacksmith quarter turned to eye them suspiciously.

"Calm yourself. I know the man."  
>"For how long? A week and then you plan to marry the man. Oh, yes, I fail to see where such a plan could fail."<br>"Oh, be quiet, you fool," Sottë breathed. "When I lodged at Candlehearth Hall he would always be in for a drink. We've spoken before."  
>"That amulet..."<br>"Yes, it's an amulet of Mara, sister. I've had plans to marry after you and Inna left."

Heddvild mulled the idea over for a moment. "No, you cannot. You're too young and you don't suit married life one bit. You can't give up your life for someone you don't even know yet."  
>"Not at all like you did, then?" Sottë snapped. She realized how harshly the words had left her mouth. "Besides, I don't see any other option for me to be able to survive."<br>"The Palace!" Heddvild exclaimed. "Stay at the Palace! I am sure the Jarl-"  
>"No, no. That's quite alright, child." Sottë said. "I'm going to the Temple, do you wan-"<p>

Sottë's sentence was interrupted by a grunt on her own part from the impact of another. A helmeted guard had run into her on his rush to get to the Palace. He quickly mumbled an apology and carried on his way.  
>"Be careful!" Heddvild yelled after the man.<br>"Something must be wrong." Sottë said. With that, she was already running to the gates of the city and exiting. Heddvild followed her, still startled.

"Sister! By all the Nine, what are you doing?"  
>Sottë had no time to reply. Whatever she was trying to say was turned to silence in the sound of great winds. Heddvild watched the woman's hair fly over her face and her hurried attempt to throw it over her shoulder. The sound of great and heavy wings bore down on them, the heat of another being joining their presence.<p>

"A dragon!" Heddvild heard one of the guards scream it, almost. She prayed that he was bringing plenty of their men. Sottë was already readying two matching swords, Heddvild gaping at her for numerous reasons. Her own hands subconsciously flew to her own weapon.  
>"Ready yourself!" Sottë yelled over the noise. Heddvild did so, her greatsword readied in prime position. She would regret this, she knew she would. Well, if they lived she would.<br>Realization lit Sottë's eyes as the dragon opened its great jaws to roar.  
>"Get down!" She yelled, throwing herself ungracefully to the right. Heddvild followed suit to the left. She had the childish impulse to cover her ears as she lay face down in the dirt.<p>

She could already hear the guards' arrows flying to the beast's scaly body, most failing to pierce its thick hide. It roared in indignation regardless, fire escaping from its throat and into the sky. Heddvild copied her sister's movements with fear, rising to her feet to face the creature.

Heddvild cringed heavily as the thing took an arrow in one of its great eyes. It thrashed back, throwing its body upwards in an attempt to dislodge it. In doing so, it left its underbelly exposed to the hail of more arrows.

"Go for the heart!" Sottë was yelling again. Heddvild didn't quite know what to feel at the point when she heard more arrows pierce its upper body. It disgusted her to hear the sounds of death issue forth yet victory was alleged to be sweet.

Her sister was already attempting to dispatch it, catching it when it fell with complete grace and skill as she hacked at the thick hide surrounding its heart. This only angered the dragon more, thrashing itself back even more violently in another attempt to dislodge the arrow from its eye.

Sottë eventually weakened the dragon, Heddvild merely being able to watch as she thrust her right sword into the rearing dragon's heart. With one last roar of indignation, it fell. Sottë hastily began moving out of the way of its falling corpse, almost tripping and slipping in her hurry to escape being crushed by it. She allowed herself to fall to the floor herself, following Heddvild's suit.  
>"Are you alright?" Sottë panted. "It didn't hurt you, did it?"<br>Heddvild shook her head, still in shock.

"Good." Sottë breathed, allowing herself to roll onto her back. Heddvild sat up, observing the guards that had ran down to meet them. Some she realized must have been aiding them with their bows and had done so finely. Others must have left their posts within the city to aid them or assure the safety of citizens.  
>"By the Nine!" A woman was yelling. Sottë rose to her feet, walking backwards almost as hastily as she had done moments before.<p>

Spirit, or so it looked to Heddvild, flew from the dragon and to her sister. It drew from the dragon's very being, ripping it from its bones until only bones were left on the snow. Heddvild felt her mouth hanging open in amazement at what she was witnessing.

Sottë almost looked guilty as the spirit sapped into her. She could feel it warming her blood and bones as the spirit melded with her own. It flashed across her eyes in a terrifying manner, Heddvild guessed she was the only to see that. Her own brown eyes flashed with the same gold as the dragon's soul as if she were possessed. Heddvild shuddered.

"You...you're...Dragonborn?" Heddvild gasped from her position on the ground. Sottë turned to her, face agasp as if it shocked her as much.  
>Out of the guards gathered, Heddvild began to recognize a few of the faces. The one she recognized to be named Ralof had pushed his way to the front of the bustling crowd. The Jarl Ulfric had led his own men to assess the damage. They were all gazing at the woman with about as much shock as Heddvild.<p>

"I can explain this." Sottë said, her voice wavering despite how strong she attempted to make it sound.  
>Heddvild watched some of the less-interested crowd disperse. The danger had been vanquished and they no longer cared. The Stormcloaks stayed, still mystified.<p>

Heddvild watched Ulfric turn with little emotion and begin to hurriedly walk back to the city gates. The rest of the Stormcloak men quickly followed. The guards hurried to open the gates for them.

"Well, I suppose congratulations are in order." Ralof voiced himself, beaming at the two. Sottë had forgotten he was there. "The Dragonborn, a Stormcloak within our very ranks! Fantastic!"  
>"You've taken this better than I expected anyone else too, Ralof." Sottë said, her voice still shaky. She kept glancing back to the city gates, Heddvild noticed.<br>"It's an ancient and honored Nord art. You must be proud to have been picked for such a thing."  
>"Let's get back to the Palace." Heddvild spoke. "Whiterun is still a matter of urgency to be dealt with and it seems we need to deal with this now, too."<br>Ralof nodded at her curtly.

* * *

><p>Sottë entered the Palace first out of the three, and did so tentatively. Ulfric was already slouching in his throne. Jorleif was absent from his usual place at the table.<p>

Heddvild addressed Ulfric with a formal propriety.  
>"My Lord, Whiterun is taken. Consequently, Balgruuf has surrendered and I believe the Vignar Gray-Mane and Galmar to be securing the place as we speak."<br>"Thank you, young Stormcloak." Ulfric said, his voice monotonous as he peered down at her. "You have done well to tell me this."

Heddvild nodded politely, unsure of what to do next. Silence fell between those gathered.  
>"And what of me?" Sottë asked hesitantly. Ulfric slowly turned his head to peer down at her in turn.<br>"You have done a great service to Windhelm. I am sure Jorleif will have some coin reward to give to you. Well done." He said, monotonous again. "Yet you cannot leave the Stormcloaks because it does not suit you anymore."  
>"What?" Sottë cried, her voice full of incredulity. "You cannot force me to stay here and fight for a cause that no longer wants me."<p>

She felt Ralof nervously shuffle his feet behind them.  
>"I wonder what has lead you to believe that is the case." Ulfric mused. "You should perhaps learn to understand when a position is final when you have given your word."<p>

Heddvild began to motion to Ralof that now was perhaps the time to retire to Candlehearth Hall. She attempted not to listen to their bickering as they did so.  
>"The Stormcloaks are in no state to allow members to walk freely, nevermind to walk freely into whatever territory or cause they please. This only leads to more deaths for our side. These rules are laid down for a reason, you see."<p>

Sottë thought on his words. "Are you saying that I am needed for my skill as the Dragonborn or did you just miss me?"  
>She could practically see right through him and how he tried to lie his way around her like a child. She grinned despite herself at his blustering reaction.<p>

"No, no. That is not the case." He mumbled, looking at the floor momentarily. "We need skilled fighters, and if I had known you were the Dragonborn..."  
>"I didn't know it myself until recently." Sottë said. "The Greybeards have already contacted me. I must go to them."<br>"You should go to them. This could be the difference between victory and defeat for the Stormcloaks." He grinned. It was a strange thing; she supposed she had never seen him truly smile before. He had quite the obsession with strength, especially over those who were weaker. It was her turn to stare the floor.

"Why did you leave?" Ulfric asked meeting her eyes directly when she brought them up.  
>"There were a few things I had to find out." She stated. "About my father."<br>Ulfric nodded, hesitant to ask. "As long as the matter is settled..."  
>Sottë furrowed her brow. "Yes, and I will fight for the Stormcloaks as long as it is required of me. As long as the Stormcloaks want me."<br>"Yet I feel I must apologize for acting...inappropriately when you were last here. I don't know what got into me."  
>Sottë opened her mouth to reply when footsteps sounded on the stone of the stairs to their right. She quickly closed her mouth, cheeks blushing.<p>

A woman in her Stormcloak armor appeared from the kitchens, a lump of cheese in her hand.  
>"Edda!" Sottë cried. She had only seen the woman without her helmet once or twice at the dinner table but she recognized her instantly. The woman loved that helmet.<br>"Sottë!" Edda cried in return, dropping her cheese. "You have returned back to Windhelm!"  
>Sottë was cut off in her speech once more as Edda seized her in a rib-crushing hug. For one who looked a delicate blond-haired maiden, Edda seemed to possess a great deal of strength.<br>"Excuse me, I need to replenish my cheese." She grinned, disappearing back down the stairs.

Sottë turned back to Ulfric. He was smiling again, and she didn't quite know if this was strange or a new treat.  
>"Is there more news?" Sottë asked.<br>"Well, actually, yes." Ulfric began. "Fort Neugrad contains some of our men, captured in battle. We need one as competent as you to lead a party to retrieve them. This will be you joining the rest of your brothers and sisters on the front lines, so to speak. Are you ready for this?"  
>"Ready as I'll ever be." Sottë said informally. Ulfric furrowed his brow. "I mean, er, yes...sir."<br>"Good." He said, bringing his usual goblet to his lips. "We're all counting on you."

Sottë wondered to what extent this was true as she took her leave of him. Perhaps she was grateful to be back in Windhelm. A beggar's life had been a tough and hungry one, and she had only lived it for a few weeks. She prayed the strange dreams of torture would not return to her this night.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: I really apologize for this being late, I'm not as dead as people thought I was (school does that to you!). Thanks for the kind reviews, too!  
><em>

* * *

><p>It was snowing heavily in Windhelm when Ulfric wound his way to the Temple of Talos as the sun set. The people of Windhelm were accustomed to him doing as such, but never in such terrible weather. He heaved open the heavy wooden door to the temple, bolting it behind him swiftly to prevent the blizzard passing inside. He was not ultimately successful, one or two swirls of snow melting on the stone floor of the temple.<p>

The lights burned low, casting a heady and almost sultry glow about the main chamber. He caught sight of someone sat on one of the pews; an usual sight in an usually-ignored temple. Sottë was perched on one of the front benches, her eyes cast upwards unabashedly to meet the cold gaze of Talos Himself. Ulfric watched her for a moment, unsure if she had noticed him enter the temple. His eyes were drawn to her throat, watching it move gently as she drank in nourishing breaths. The area where her neck met her shoulders was noticeably bare, giving way to the pale skin of chest and slight cleavage that lay there. No- such thoughts he could not allow himself in a holy place.  
>"What are you doing here?" Ulfric asked as he placed himself in the pew next to her.<br>"Praying," she replied shortly, her eyes not leaving that of the statue's.  
>"What for?" He half-chuckled. Her gaze swiftly left Talos' to meet his own.<br>"You," Sottë attempted a smile that resulted in a watery grimace. She was still angered and utterly infuriated by him, "and any future battles you may encounter."  
>"You really shouldn't-"<br>"Shouldn't what?" She asked in a shrill tone. "Care for you? I shouldn't. I don't want to. I have never wanted to; this would all be so much easier if you were an uncaring and selfish dolt."

Sottë heaved herself to her feet, pacing to stand facing a one of the low-burning flames.  
>"You utterly infuriate me," she hissed. "You are a fascinating man, and yet there's something I can't quite place about you, something I cannot fathom or articulate. I have never encountered this; people are usually so easy to figure out and pinpoint to a routine."<br>"Maybe it would do you well to not make assumptions." Ulfric murmured. She had not realized him reach her left shoulder. Sottë turned to face him, speaking as if she had not heard him.  
>"But you, there's no figuring it out. There's no imprint left upon the ground from where you walk except from your psychophants, the ones who worship the very idea of your name being uttered above that of a whisper. Why is it that they blindly follow you when there are the downsides to your regime? How do you not confuse them so?"<p>

"Have you slept at all since you have returned?" He squinted at her in the low light. She shook her head slightly, sniffing as her gaze fell to the ground.  
>"No...I can't." Sottë breathed, crossing her arms across her chest. This only aided the rather low-cut dress she wore, one in fashion years ago yet still a manner of handsome, in bringing emphasis to her chest. A lone necklace trailed there, glittering in the light. She never dressed as such, usually in armors, furs and even the odd pair of trousers occasionally. The latter had caused quite the stir outside of the Palace, causing him to have to hide a grin when he heard of her disturbance among the "proper" women when she had sported leather trousers for the whole day. He himself could not object, only internally when the other men in the Palace had noticed her shapely form encased as such.<p>

She went to leave.

"Will you not let me help you?" Ulfric called after the woman.  
>"With what?" She stopped and turned to face him, eyes wide in expectation. "Can you make of normal blood, of a standing that does not force me to marry a man I barely know and cannot love? Can you take the dragons and force them away?"<br>She had stepped closer to him, and he could feel the warmth radiating off her body in this cold dusk.  
>"It is what the gods birthed me for," Sottë murmured, "nothing more, and nothing less."<br>"How could one so young know?" Ulfric asked softly, gazing down at her averted eyes. They moved closer to each other without telling themselves to, contemplating the other's mind and its stability. He knew little; he knew he had found her entrancing and radiant since he had first set eyes on her, stealing gazes in some mask of humor or camaraderie that was poorly-veiled. He could kiss her once more, a lingering one of promises that would not need stating. Surely, she would allow it. Such talk indicated as such, did it not?

"Don't." Sottë breathed as he neared her, startling his hazy mind and enamored countenance. "Don't bother with me. Honestly."

With that, she was vanished back into the blizzard. The snow he had let in had, he assumed, melted on the stone floor.

* * *

><p>Sottë was taken unawares when she felt something flimsy collide with her face across the dinner table. It was enough to knock her over after the battle at Fort Sungard and her lack of sleep from the night before. She eventually had the object in her hand, blinking at her younger sister from across the table.<p>

"What would possess you to do such a thing?" Sottë sighed defeatedly.  
>"Look at it." Heddvild grinned impishly. Sottë did so, beholding the flimsy black material and seeing it to be a frilly garter.<p>

Sottë felt her cheeks pinken. "Heddvild!"  
>The girl just grinned at her again. "You know," she said, lowering her voice dramatically. "For the night of the wedding. It'll bring good luck."<br>Sottë lowered her eyes back to her unappealing broth.  
>"I think you might need it, too, the amount of sleep you've had." Heddvild murmured, piling broth into her mouth. Sottë looked up at her sharply.<p>

"How would you know my sleeping patterns?" Sottë asked, bitterness in her voice.  
>"I've noticed you pretty much swaying in your seat, now." Heddvild mumbled through a mouthful of food. "The circles under your eyes don't help you much, either."<br>Sottë felt under her eyes subconsciously, as if expecting to feel the proof of her sleep deprivation there. She leaned closer to her sister across the table reluctantly.  
>"It's...odd." She breathed. "These dreams, nightmares really, I've been having since just before I came back to Windhelm. Every night it's the same dreams of torture and someone trying to take my bones from me. Only their masks ever change."<br>Heddvild furrowed her brow.

"They're so real I don't wish to sleep, I can't- not for anything. The pain is so real, but when I wake up, there's no evidence of it ever having happened. " Sottë said, averting her eyes once more.  
>"And you're still living at Candlehearth Hall?"<br>"Of course." Sottë half-laughed nervously. "I wouldn't want to be so improper."  
>Heddvild resisted rolling her eyes.<br>"Well, it has been a long day. Will you be up to whatever next battle is sent our way?"  
>Sottë nodded her head. They spent the rest of their dinner watching the men disperse, leaving them both the only two left at the table.<p>

Sottë had looked up from the now-lukewarm broth into the war room. Ulfric stood there, leaning as if with a great burden on his shoulders against the war table. He caught her eye, something she had learned to associate with her audience being required. Sottë sighed and heaved herself out of the bench towards him.

She stared at the growing blue flags- theirs- on the map. Their efforts had been great and difficult, not to mention full of death, but the red flags still existed in a good number that seemed impossible to destroy.  
>"You did well today," he more stated it, not meeting her eyes. "Galmar and I have decided to grant you the rank and title of Snow-Hammer for your efforts."<p>

Sottë nodded curtly. "Thank you."  
>She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder to see Heddvild herself gone. Ulfric looked up at her when he realized she was still there.<p>

"There will be more when our scouts inform us of their movements." He told her, signaling for her to leave.  
>"Right," she hesitated, her voice sounding unlike her own to her own ears. Sottë was unsure of herself. He stared back down at the map as if it presented a difficult puzzle.<br>"I know why you have avoided the palace recently." He stated.  
>"I'm sorry?"<p>

"I have an ear to the men and Elda Early-Dawn of Candlehearth Hall stays in touch."  
>Sottë narrowed her eyes. "Ah, so you <em>have <em>been spying on me."  
>"It's not like that." He shook his head.<br>"Of course." She laughed sarcastically, moving to leave the Palace.  
>"You're getting married, are you not?" Ulfric said, his eyes boring into hers.<p>

Sottë tried to seem unaffected by raising her chin a fraction. "I am." She said.  
>"How soon?"<br>Sottë rolled her tongue over her front teeth. "Just over a week."  
>"Very well." Ulfric said. "You are dismissed."<br>Sottë had not registered what he had said and merely stared at her. She was sure that confusion showed on her face.  
>"That means you may leave." He said, shooing her from his working space.<p>

* * *

><p>"Do you ever do anything else around here other than sit?"<p>

Ulfric looked up from his throne sharply. One of the books that had been resting on his knee tumbled to the ground and closed on the stone.  
>"There is a civil war to be fought, in case you're unaware." Ulfric said. He was surprised that she actually smiled at that. She looked less weary than the previous day.<br>"I've brought you something." Sottë said. She set down what looked like a hairless rat.  
>"There's a guard outside the city gate whose mutt just had these pups. Its little hairless face make me think of you."<br>Ulfric grimaced in a mock-dramatic manner at that.

"What would I want with that...thing?"  
>It was Sottë's turn to grimace."They can be trained to catch rats when they're a few months older." She said in her defense. "And besides; I thought you might like the company."<br>"I am not some old crone waiting to die from loneliness." He shot at her. The side of her mouth lifted in an amused question.  
>"Regardless, the dog will need someone to care for it. I'm sure Jorleif knows how to do that." Sottë said, her voice suppressing a chuckle. "And after the civil war's fought and won, I can take to my new life of wifely duty."<br>He found that hard to believe. "Of course."  
>There was a pause. "So that worked but my own choice didn't?"<p>

Ulfric raised his hands in defense. "I don't make the rules."  
>She actually laughed at that, realizing the silliness in his remark.<br>"I won't leave the Stormcloaks. Not when I'm someone's wife." She said to no one in particular. "I want to stay and help the Stormcloaks rebuild Skyrim even if that means I have to marry to be able to afford to do so."  
>"Well, that's very noble of you." Ulfric said, smiling genuinely this time himself.<p>

"The news I found of my father, I meant to tell you..." Sottë mumbled. She retrieved a note from her sleeve and read it aloud. "_Viktor Andrel, an _apprentice blacksmith and_ suspected Stormcloak sympathizer, was yesterday reported as missing after the attack on the village of Havskhum. He has been the subject of recent fruitless raids by Imperial Army officers and is wanted for possible known whereabouts of Ulfric Stormcloak, a rising opponent of the Empire. Andrel is known to be dangerous and individual approach is not advised. A reward will be issued upon his capture and deliverance to an Imperial Army outpost_."

Ulfric blinked at her, soaking in her words.  
>"This was dated to two and a half years ago." Sottë said. "I was always told that my father had been killed in a hunting accident when I was barely a child. I realize now that I was foolish enough to believe this."<br>She let the parchment fall to the table. "Did you know this?"  
>Ulfric sat up. "I did." He watched the anger grow on her face. "But I was unaware that he had been your father!"<br>"That's very convenient, especially considering how you let me think..." Sottë forced herself quiet. Her voice was almost a whisper. "Is he still alive?"  
>Ulfric inhaled deeply, mulling things over. "Perhaps. If he managed to find refuge."<p>

Sottë felt the betrayal like a punch to the gut. "Where is he?" She demanded. Her words were cold and forceful even to her ears. All the warmth between them was non-existent at that moment.  
>"Andrel had to hide for the safety of his family. That happens to a lot of us, they always threaten you with harm to the ones you love if they capture you or break you down." Ulfric bit his lower lip. "I was last aware of him residing within Stillborn Cave to the northwest of Windhelm."<p>

Sottë broke away from him immediately. She knew of the cave's location. She immediately saddled herself on her horse, ignoring the shivering of her flesh in the weather. The ride would be fast; it must be. It was nearby, after all.

* * *

><p>It had been almost three days when she came back to him. He had half-expected her to return to begging. At least he knew he feared it.<p>

Yet she had looked insane when had returned to the palace. Her hair had been stuck up from the storm, plastered at the front to her temples and turned to a dark and slippery black. Her cheeks had been red and her fingers stiff.

He had heard her horse returned on the stones outside the city gates, heard her booted footsteps coming up the stairs to the palace. Ulfric met her in the entrance, still unchanged from his daywear, indicative of another lost night of sleep.  
>"Please," she gasped, the sound of the storm outside almost masking her wheezy voice. "You have to let me stay here. They'll kill me if I don't."<p>

He summoned Jorleif to show her to a room for the night, not wishing to seem even more improper by escorting a betrothed young woman to bed. He had wished to know of Viktor's fate, if he was as he remembered and alive as he always had been. But for now, he would have to wait.

Sottë reached the room, only realizing in the morning that her sleep had been dreamless.


	10. Chapter 10

Ulfric had been waiting for her in the war room. He was once again leaning over the war table, books and maps strewn throughout the room as he rubbed at his aching temple. It was getting to midday and she had still not appeared from her room upstairs. He had found his thoughts to be filled of everything she had mentioned to him the day prior, little snippets of her low voice running through his head: "...suspected Stormcloak sympathizer", "... foolish enough to believe this", "...they'll kill me if I don't".

He allowed himself a private shudder at the last just as she appeared soundlessly around the stone turret stairs. She looked quite dreadful: her hair had dried from the storm in a matted mess, her skin was pale and she looked like the sleep had not been enough. Mud caked under her fingernails relentlessly.

"Good morning." He said. Sottë smiled wanly and padded to the other side of the war table.  
>"He was at Stillborn Cave." She immediately got to the point, "he was there."<br>Ulfric straightened himself up above the table.  
>"He'd managed to find refuge, like you said would keep him alive." Sottë allowed herself to exhale deeply and indulgently, "but he wasn't alive, and you said he would be."<p>

Ulfric averted his eyes back to the table, trying not to betray any emotion.  
>"How did he-?" Ulfric began, trailing off when the words evaded him. Anger was flowing into him.<p>

"Bandits were in the cave. By the looks of things, he hadn't possessed many supplies after he managed to get to the cave. Where I found his...body I'm guessing they killed him in his sleep."

Ulfric shook his head slowly. "He was a good man, one who deserved better than that. He deserved to be able to defend himself from death, as he had done so many times before in honor and in faith."  
>Sottë nodded her agreement. "Yes," she whispered.<p>

* * *

><p>"Sister!" Heddvild slapped Sottë heavily on the arm. The girl was getting stronger in her practice with her greatsword and was becoming considerably well-muscled due to it. Sottë smiled at her weakly, feeling as if her forced smile was becoming too much of a recurrence.<p>

"'Afternoon."  
>"Show me, show me, show me!" Heddvild chanted, pumping her arms in excitement. Sottë could only be reminded of the girl as a younger child, Heddvild imploring Sottë to take her with her on a hunting trip despite being unable to string or fire a bow. Yet she did understand what she meant.<br>"Heddvild-"  
>"No, no excuses!" Heddvild laughed, "show me the wedding dress now or I get violent."<p>

Sottë sighed, entered her room and crossed to her dresser, laying the white and dark blue garment on the bed, throwing down the matching garland woven of forget-me-nots, cornflowers and delphiniums down after it.  
>Heddvild let out a dramatic gasp. "It's lovely!"<br>"Thank you." Sottë smiled, half-genuinely this time. When she moved to put the dress back, Heddvild held a hand up to stop her movements.  
>"Oh, no, don't try it on! That'll be bad luck for us both." Heddvild shuddered. She began to speak her now memorized (even to Sottë) to-do list. "<em>Offering to Dibella, offering to Talos, prayer to Talos, new jewelry, thoroughly attempt to iron blue dress<em>..."  
>"Alright." Sottë said, chuckling at Heddvild's enthusiasm. The imagined sight of her with her short boy hair and simultaneously in a dress was an amusing thought.<p>

"When do I get to meet Stenvar, then?" Heddvild asked, suddenly finished reciting her list.  
>"Oh, er, after the wedding, I suppose." The question had taken Sottë unawares.<p>

"So, he's back from his hunting trip?" Heddvild stole a grape from Sottë's table and popped it into her mouth. Sottë nodded.  
>"And you're not seeing him until Fredas, the night before the wedding?"<br>"Yes," Sottë confirmed, "we will be required to meet one another, considering that we will have to travel to Riften for the ceremony."

Heddvild nodded, biting the inside of her cheek as she thought on her words. "Is anyone welcome at the wedding?"  
>"Well, no. Of course I've invited the men. I did send a message to Gerdur and Hod in Riverwood a few weeks ago, too. I may invite Oengul War-Anvil, the blacksmith, for all those times he allowed me to use his forge."<br>"Is Ulfric invited?" Heddvild inquired, much like a child would.

The words struck Sottë like a slap, busying herself with closing the old dresser's squeaking doors to hide her burning cheeks. Ulfric and Sottë talked often and profusely at mealtimes, often playfully and with a great ease; it was embarrassing to realize others had noticed their association. "Yes." She lied. "Yes, of course."

Heddvild allowed herself to fall heavily onto her sister's bed, narrowly avoiding sitting on the wedding dress. Sottë rushed forward to move it.  
>"Ah, I can't wait." Heddvild sighed. "I love weddings. Is Stenvar handsome? I bet he is."<br>Sottë laughed. "I wouldn't say that. But he's a good man."  
>Heddvild grinned at her. "Well, if you're sure."<br>There was no reply. She busied herself with rearranging the heavily-laden fruit bowl on her table that Heddvild had toppled over.

"How are the nightmares?" Heddvild murmured. Sottë turned to face her abruptly, leaving the fruit scattered.  
>"Last night was the first night I didn't have one." Sottë said. "But look at this."<br>She rolled up the sleeve of her shirt. Puckered scars of a dark red and of varying depth criss-crossed across her upper right arm. They were precise and almost all completely aligned.

"I knew I wasn't going crazy." Sottë said. "Something is happening to me. I can't sleep for fear I'll not wake up the morning, or I'll wake up so depleted of my own body, unable to move."

It sounded silly even to her own ears.  
>"Stay in the palace, Sottë. Stay where's there's a lot of guards to make sure no one can get in and out without their say-so." Heddvild said. She was wise for one so young.<p>

"Well, I...did last night." Sottë said, her eyes falling momentarily to the floor as she tugged her sleeve back down. "But just for last night."  
>"Oh," Heddvild breathed.<p>

"There's something I had to tell you, too, Heddvild...about our father." Sottë murmured after a lengthy pause, eyes once more on the floor.  
>"Yes?" Heddvild raised an eyebrow as Sottë raised her eyes to meet hers. She couldn't bear to break the girl's image of their father. Her eyes had lit up at the mention of him.<p>

"But it can wait until after the wedding, it's unimportant." Sottë said, smiling down at her before returning to rearranging the fruit.  
>"If you're sure." Heddvild repeated, tracing patterns in the musty carpet with her booted feet.<p>

Footsteps sounded in the corridor after a muted disturbance ceased. Sottë lifted her head from arranging the table, listening intently. Heddvild continued, disinterested. She was startled when the door eased open, allowing Ulfric to shift through the doorway. Heddvild silently watched him lock gazes with Sottë, a soundless greeting in shock and in some state of awe. Heddvild quickly passed, stopping with a quick and correctly officious greeting to the jarl as she darted back into Windhelm's snows.

Ulfric closed the door softly behind himself, watching her arrange the fruit on the table.  
>"Do you not know how to knock?" She growled under her breath to no one in particular, suddenly dreadfully interested in her task. She tried to ignore the voice in the back of her mind that said that she had the jarl in her room.<br>"I merely wished to visit bestow my best wishes." Ulfric said, voice slow and enduring.  
>"Thank you, you may leave." It hurt her to be so cruel to one she cared for, and she let her hands fall to lean on the table as she met his gaze, relenting slightly at it. They held one another's gaze momentarily, unsaid concepts common knowledge between them in an unspoken manner.<p>

"A wedding gift is custom, is it not?" He withdrew a hand she did not realize had been behind his back, extending some small and loosely-tied parcel to her. She gingerly accepted it, wasting no time in drawing back the paper.

"By the Nine..." Sottë spluttered, gaping from the item to him. "This...this is gold."  
>He nodded modestly to confirm her suspicions. She lifted the item to the window's flitting light. It was a circlet, far from her own copper one in design. It was of the purest gold throughout. Three large emeralds were set in the largest panel of gold she had ever seen. It glinted in the dingy light.<p>

"But this must have cost a fortune! I cannot accept this, surely." Sottë extended it towards him. He took it, stilling it in her movements and placing it gently back into her grasp.  
>"It's a gift," he smiled. "It has been a while since I knew of one of my own marrying, so perhaps it is an overly-extravagant one regardless."<br>Sottë's eyes fell to the beautiful circlet in her hands, a look of awe on her face at the very gesture.

"Thank you," she smiled up at him, still apprehensive. Its gleam intimidated her, as if such an item was too luxurious to even sport at her own wedding.  
>"It can barely outshine one such as you and all your beauty, <em>dovahkiin<em>." Ulfric, despite not returning her smile, echoed her sentiment. He mistook her falling gaze as offence at the comment. "But I shouldn't say such things, I'm old enough to be your father."  
>"There's barely nineteen years between us; hardly the age of any father I ever knew." Sottë remarked, not fully realizing how she entertained possibilities in her comment. He watched her cross back to him with the circlet in her tentative hands. He would ignore his racing heart or be damned.<p>

"I saw it and thought back to my comment of your circlet being cheap, and I remember you telling me the story behind it. That...your father had bought it for your mother at the beginning of their relationship." Ulfric gestured to the new circlet.  
>Understanding lit her face as she crossed back to the table to where he stood. "You remembered? I mean, you remembered. I- thank you."<p>

Her mother had come from a far poorer family than her father's, reveling in the perceived expense of the cheap circlet even as she had shown it to her daughters. She had told him this at supper one night as the topic had shifted to her constant wearing of the thing. She had tried to hide how much she cared for the item, attempting shielding her emotion with a humorous twist to the tale. It must have been an exploitable shield.

"I'm unaware of when I have received a nicer gift," Sottë said, glancing at the thin circlet in her hands. He watched her do so, entranced. "Thank you."  
>"There is no need to thank me." As soon as he finished saying it, Sottë felt the jewelry slip from her trembling grasp. Guilt seeped into her, watching him stoop to return it to her. Their skin touched as she took back the circlet, and he tried to ignore how he already envied himself in that moment. "It was a gift."<br>Sottë smiled, nodding as he quickly made excuses to leave the emotion he feared was beginning too deepen too far, praying he would not bump into Stenvar as he left his fiancée's room. The cold snows of Windhelm would do him good for once.

* * *

><p>Ulfric had not been able to sleep again. His throne was quickly becoming associated with sleep deprivation to him. Perhaps trying would be a suitable cure, but there was too much to be done.<p>

It was becoming the dusk of Fredas, the night of which Sottë was to journey to Riften for her dawn wedding. He knew that she would have not forbid him from her wedding, that he would actually be made to feel quite welcome amongst the others, but he could not manage to bring himself to the thought of watching her marry that man.

And why was that?

What gave him the right to think as such? Yes, he had known her longer, perhaps knew her even better than Stenvar. Ulfric knew he was more influential, had more money and could even hunt for food if the situation required it. He even suspected that the man had years on him in age, judging from his appearance, and perhaps even further behind him in experience of differing sorts.  
>But it wasn't jealously that captured him. This drive he had, to rid the land of the Empire's pincers and subsequent venom, it was all nearly done. What would become of him then? There would still be battles to be fought, of course. Battles for his people and their heritage. With that, with her as his- no, their Dragonborn, he deliberately avoided giving her menial tasks to do, sending lesser recruits to do them instead. He no longer knew why. He had, at first, assumed a fraternal protection, for her and for the rest of his soldiers. She had already more than proved herself, yet her presence would be required at that final fight of the Battle for Fort Hraggstad, would it not? He could not shield her from the blows in a battle he was not allowed near.<p>

Even with all the planning he had done, not just in this civil war, but in terms of heart, he would resign himself to admitting that he was jealous. Jealous for the pretty farmer's daughter who wore the cheap burnt circlet into battle and of whom would probably be dead before her old age took her, before even her children entered the world. No, he wouldn't go to the wedding. Not to disrupt her _or _him. If he resigned himself just now to envying Stenvar, would he resign himself to admitting that he loved her?

No, that he couldn't do, not with so many relying upon him to win this war to bring their sons, daughters, husbands and wives back home from the brawl.

As soon as the thought had passed his mind, the door to the entrance chamber of the palace opened tentatively. There she was, quite simply stood there. She looked...different, in quite an exquisite way. Someone had dusted her eyes with a light powder, emphasizing their warmth. They had also brushed her long, brown hair out of its usual braids so that it hung more calmly around her face, slightly waved to shape her face in a lovely manner. The simple wedding dress of white and blue was beautiful on her, that matching garland of flowers he could not identify gently resting on her head. Ulfric's voice failed him as she stepped in, closing the doors to the night behind her. He rose from his throne, sending a piece of parchment or two to the floor.

"Hello," she breathed, her voice a lower than usual.  
>"Hello." He repeated, his own voice a croak.<p>

"I was just-" her voice began to fade as she crossed the room to pick up the parchment for him. She coughed to clear her throat on the way. It was probably just to Ulfric's eyes, but he could have sworn that she barely walked, seeming so effortless in her behavior. "I was just passing by and thought I might pop in."

A small chuckle escaped his throat. He first thought she was handing him the parchment she had picked up moments before, but looking down he saw her hand outstretched to him.

Her lips stuttered on finding words, framing the sentiment in words she knew nothing of. The brightest and most genuine smile he had seen her contemplate lit up her face as he took her small hand in his, reveling in the overdue contact. She watched him descend the throne in an even step, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I don't think I understand your meaning," Ulfric stated, "or even why you're here."  
>She wasn't even hurt by his harsh wording, no longer smiling up at him yet suddenly serious.<br>"I made a decision." She looked down at the ground. "I don't want to marry Stenvar, I never have. I don't want to marry anyone."

That stung Ulfric, he admitted that to himself.  
>"But I do want to be with you." Sottë said. "If that means just fighting by your side or something more...I want to be a soldier, a Stormcloak, and someone who can use it to protect you, even if it costs me my life."<br>He went to object to that, but she merely drew his hands closer to her, and he ceased, listening as his hand found her waist.  
>"A-and maybe that's what I was set here, that's what all this is meant for. If you don't fully understand my intention...what we have shared in conversation, yes, weighs on me in ways, but before the Battle of Whiterun when we...kissed," he watched her features soften as she went on, less jocular, "I was scared. I was terrified of...everything. But that is not to say I don't treasure the memory."<p>

He nodded, the meaning slowly registering with him. "I see," he breathed.  
>She could already feel her head reeling. She only presently realized how her left hand had slipped to his right, held like a couple ready to waltz. Sottë was suddenly very aware of his grasp at her waist.<br>"Do I frighten you now?" Ulfric murmured, barely a whisper. Sottë felt his breath on her face, his grasp at her waist. Her head reeled as if gallons of Nord mead had gone swiftly to her head and without her noticing.  
>"No," Sottë shivered, eyes traipsing up to meet his own with strong conviction. "Never. I could never fear you."<br>"Good." He breathed, one hand trailing from her waist to cup her cheek. Sensory memories she had forgotten of their only prior kiss, as short as it was, flooded back. It had not been enough.

His nearing form was new, terrifying and heady, familiar and exciting. His lips neared hers slowly, and Sottë mentally willed him neither to rush nor lessen. His hand was at her cheek, brushing the thudding pulse in her neck. His other hand would thread in her hair, finding the sensation there; she was a science of herself, this dragon.  
>"You're so beautiful," he breathed softly, finally finishing in closing the penultimate gap between them.<br>Sottë ignored the pinkening of her cheeks, feeling that he would surely not be able to ignore anything of her with the lack of space between them, as she could not ignore him. Not anymore. She still had much to learn.

She could feel him smile as he kissed her for the second time, allowing no space to exist between them. It was a sweeter, slower kiss; one of two who knew they both had learned in ways they had never known could blossom. Sottë gently eased herself to him, trying to comfort her thumping heart with the promise of the future. How could he not feel her heart thump against him? It was her turn to smile, pressing a short and gentle kiss to his lips. Her heart would surely give her away.

She gently eased her lips into a smile as she led him up the stairs, now sure of knowing the palace halls, and more sure of knowing herself.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: This chapter is so soppy, I don't even. I apologise for the relative brevity and promise the next one'll be more...action-y and longer.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>Seventeen years previous...<em>

Ulfric drew himself from his horse in a quick and fluid motion that he knew would show his years of practice in a single movement. If there had been women around, he would have rather pleased with himself to have performed such a movement and permitted himself to proceed with earned bravado. He rolled his neck after he landed, rolling his shoulders.

He made his way up the small path towards the newly built shack-like farmhouse, bringing his knuckles up to rap smartly against its door. He adjusted his new finery as he waited, too used, even at such a young age, to fuss and act awkward. The door creaked open almost immediately, a tall and gangly older man of an already-receding hairline emerging almost immediately, leaning awkwardly on a stick. The man had almost two decades of age on himself.

"Stormcloak," the man grunted. He nodded at Ulfric, offering an awkward attempt at a smile as he attempted to move through the door and close it behind him quietly.  
>"Andrel." Ulfric greeted the man, his voice louder than his had been.<br>"You'll want to watch yourself," he snapped, making sure the door was shut behind him. "Nysse's exhausted after the twins arrived last night, won't be up to talk for a while, in case you'd forgotten she was a heavily pregnant woman. She's barely in any mood to talk politics and battle plans."

"So everything went alright?"  
>"Aye," Andrel said. "Long birth, but she got through it alright. I'd feel guilty with the lass if it was our first. She's got the nurse Birgit tending to her still."<p>

Ulfric nodded, watching Viktor limp down the path to walk with him.  
>"I heard the news from Windhelm. I thought it was bad enough you being made jarl so young," his eyes danced with humor before turning serious once more, "but Torygg becoming High King...that's a whole 'nother problem. Old bastard would sell his mother if it kept the people placid and obedient."<br>"He would indeed, that's why we need to ally-"

They were interrupted by scrapings on the door. Viktor rolled his eyes and leaned more heavily on his walking stick and willed the jarl on with a silent gesture.  
>"That's why we need to ally ourselves with some of the thanes and even jarls of the other holds, just if some reality of what could be may happen." Ulfric said. "We need to ensure some of the jarls and their thanes will support us should external interference..."<br>He trailed off, unsure of what exactly could happen.  
>"Escalate?" Viktor offered, at which Ulfric nodded.<br>"You can count on me, Stormcloak." Viktor patted the man on the back in one heavy thud. "I'm your man, through and through."

The door to the farmhouse opened, allowing Birgit, a red-faced and well-built young midwife from the town who tended the nearby villages, to exit. An equally red-faced toddler, obviously fresh from crying, was clutched in her arms.  
>"Ah, Mr. Andrel, you're required back inside." Birgit said tentatively, as if her presence bothered him immensely. "Nysse's woken up and she's a bit disorientated...I don't think she quite remembers who I am."<p>

Ulfric chuckled, at which Viktor shot him a deadly look. He immediately stopped.  
>"Well, good luck with it all." Ulfric called after the man's back.<br>"Aye, aye." Viktor waved him off behind him, limping back up the path with Birgit and the girl in tow. "Good luck with your mystical quest to become the true Nord jarl of Skyrim or some claptrap like that."

Ulfric watched the door close, setting back off for the short ride to his new residence at Windhelm.

* * *

><p>They had lay there for what seemed like a short time, sun not yet risen as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. They had been offering each other the tidbits of the old dragon language they knew.<p>

"_Kein."  
><em>"War."  
>"<em>Qo<em>."  
>"Lightning."<br>"_Keizaal_?"  
>Sottë rolled her eyes up at the ceiling at the simplicity of that one. "Skyrim."<p>

There was a pause as he laughed at her reaction, Sottë herself suppressing her own laughter neatly.  
>"What about <em>saviik<em>?" He asked. She met his eye, a sarcastic look still in her own.  
>"Savior."<br>"Or _sizaan_?"  
>"That means...lost." Sottë thought on that, agreeing internally.<p>

She tried to seem inconspicuous in her edging closer towards him. For the first time since she had returned to northern Skyrim, she felt truly and thoroughly warm. She suppressed a yawn.

"_Brit._" He nudged her gently with a shoulder.  
>Sottë opened an eye to gaze up at him. "...Beautiful. No; <em>faad<em>."  
>"Warmth." He grinned, nodding in agreement, looking down at the woman resting her head on his shoulder, pressing a light kiss to her forehead.<p>

"I don't think I know anymore dragon language." She muttered. "Not very good to say I'm supposedly _dovahkiin_."  
>"Well, just wait; the Greybeards still haven't met you." Ulfric said in her defense, a hand reaching to touch the brown locks that fanned about her. "I'm sure there's no changing a <em>dovahkiin'<em>s ferocity."

They lay there in each other's company for a good few minutes, silence uniting them in harmony.  
>"What happened when you...?" He tried to find the words to finish his sentence. "When you tried to find your father?"<p>

He could feel her scowl at the question. "I told you. Bandits."  
>"Oh, of course."<br>"Why?" She said, lifting her head up to meet his eyes. Ulfric shook his head lightly.  
>"I wondered why it took you so long to return."<br>"Oh," her head fell back down after that. "Did you know him?"  
>Ulfric felt a lump form in his throat. "No," he lied, "not particularly well."<p>

"I wonder what he would say if he was still alive about all this." Sottë laughed shakingly, beginning to tremble. "About me running away from my own wedding and leaving my betrothed for an older man after barely scraping by in food and lodgings in the first place."  
>Ulfric laughed. Sottë suddenly sat up beside him, shock obvious on her face, his words apparently non-soothing.<p>

"I can't believe it. Everything I've done to Stenvar." She said, her right hand slipping from the sheet that covered her to cup her forehead as if it pained her. "I've got to set things right with him."  
>"I understand."<br>"I don't regret a thing. Not with you, anyway." She looked over her shoulder to grin at him before bracing herself for her next words, turning fully to him. "I...love you, but I've got to get to Riften and seek forgiveness for this."

"There's something I should tell you." Ulfric said. Sottë tried to hide the pinch of embarrassment for his disregarding of her admission. It was one that she had played out in her head for quite some time now, taking place in different locations (sometimes, even different countries) and hours of the day. She had never anticipated his response though.

"Yes?" Sottë said, her voice muffled momentarily by her dress falling over head and onto her body. She turned to him in an exaggerated grin, trampled garland resting jauntily on her disheveled hair.  
>"I did know your father. Quite well, actually."<br>Sottë sat herself on the part of the bed she had just left, happy amazement lighting her face, replacing her previously silly expression. She inched closer to him once more. "Really? Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Ulfric turned towards her. "I knew you were his daughter as soon as I found out your surname, you see. The last time I heard of any Andrel was just before the destruction of the village of Havskhum."  
>She nodded her head, enthralled. He did not sidestep the anger that he was about to inflict.<p>

"You see, Andrel and I," the ecstatic look on her face made this even more difficult, "we had a particular plan that I suppose would sound rather absurd to one who never fought alongside us for days on end, with not much food not company to keep us sane..."  
>His voice trailed off, much to Sottë's disappointment.<p>

"Yes?" She beamed, bringing her left hand to rest on his nearest arm. He seized the hand in his right without much hesitation.  
>"It was Andrel who had assisted me, alongside other men, in truly gaining the support of officials and jarls who still first aided us and still do to this day, yet there was always some ulterior oath in the background of our brotherhood."<br>He inhaled, mouth suddenly dry. "He made me promise him that if the day came that he was on the run alone from whoever sought us, with many brothers-in-arms cut down, I would attempt to fake his death in a way that would lessen the danger of his wife and children. It's what I told you and what I've always told you; in a war effort like this, a hidden soldier is always damaged and tortured through his family. That is why many leave such efforts when they marry or start a family. I never have lied to you of that."  
>"You mean to say...?"<br>Ulfric nodded guiltily. "I was the one who sent those bandits to Stillborn Cave."

Sottë inhaled quickly and sharply, bile rising in her throat as she withdrew her hand from his, almost as if she had been burned.  
>"You...my father..." She muttered. She could feel the familiar lump rising in her throat as angry tears flooded her eyes. She willed them away.<br>"I tried to track down you and your family afterwards, but it seems your mother made it quite difficult for I to do that. But you must understand there must have been some mix up with-" Ulfric attempted to retake her withdrawn hand. She drew it to her chest.

"No." Sottë drew to her feet, her hand covering her mouth. It alternated between this and flying through her hair. She wanted to give some profound speech on betrayal or back-stabbing, but her voice and mind failed her in that. "You allowed my father to die. You allowed my sisters to never know their father."  
>"But I can explain all this, if you would grant me this." He was beginning yell himself. Her instincts told her to run. An angry fist tore the garland from her head, slamming the thing down onto the desk. It disintegrated rather easily, beautiful blue flowers crunching and browning from her fingers as she stormed from the room.<p>

* * *

><p>"Come with me." Sottë snapped. As she had been exiting down the palace steps, she had found Heddvild marching her own way up them, face crestfallen. Sottë quickly seized her by the arm and turned her in the other direction.<br>"Sister! You have-"  
>"I shall explain at Candlehearth Hall."<p>

It was easy, despite the girl's new muscle, to drag her to the inn. Sottë still had the advantage of age and height. Nils, the cook, gaped at them as they passed to her room. News travels quickly, she mused angrily.

Sottë quickly closed her bedroom door behind them, chest rising and falling quicker than she had noticed as she leaned her forehead against the cool of the door.  
>"You have some nerve to act so uncaring, sister." She could hear Heddvild snarl behind her. "Last night was probably the most pitiful sight of this era, not to mention probably the worst night of Stenvar's-"<br>"Would you be quiet for one second?" Sottë growled, teeth clicking as she closed them quickly.  
>"And to be seen emerging from the palace at such an early hour, as if you think no one will understand what you've done and who with," Heddvild disregarded her request. "I have no compassion for you and that uncaring jarl, only pity for that poor man who-"<p>

"He killed our father, Heddvild." Sottë said, turning to face her. "Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak allowed the death of one of his best and most loyal men and did not give it even a backward glance until this day, years after the deed."  
>Heddvild tilted her head like a child, calm at last. "I don't understand."<br>Sottë explained through gritted teeth what she had just been told. Heddvild lowered herself gingerly onto the bed.  
>"By the Nine," she breathed, bringing her hands up to brush at her face where tears threatened to fall. "How...how could I have allowed myself to trust such a..."<br>Sottë placed herself beside her on the bed, not finding the words to comfort her as she allowed an arm to slide around the girl in comfort as she wept.


	12. Chapter 12

Sottë shivered in her light armor against the backdrop of the snowy skies that loomed over the Fort Hraggstad, their camp set in the hills near Solitude. She could not quite place if her shivering was down to her being accustomed to heavy armor or to this being a penultimate battle of sorts - both unnerved her.

She resisted the urge to hug herself into warmth to avoid disrupting the queue they formed for their allowance of a pre-battle broth. Whisperings behind her in the queue set her on edge, not yet causing her posture to slacken. Some miracle had convinced Galmar to allow Ulfric on the field. He looked different, not particularly strange in his newly-found armor. How he had constantly stared at her with no attempt of avoidance annoyed her greatly, her own energy completely directed at avoiding him to the best of her ability.

She had set up her own tent further away from the main encampment, mostly wanting to avoid the yells of those who had been injured or ambushed along the way. After offering a short thank you to the cook, she hurried to her isolated tent and dropped herself behind it, safe from the knowing gazes of some of the men and her own sister. Was she really that transparent?

_No_, Sottë thought, _gossip cannot go unheard_. She stared down at the usual meal of broth in its wooden bowl and in its small sizings, sighing as she brought the bowl to her lips. As she closed her eyes, she tried to reach out with the senses other than her vision, hearing her surroundings. Men chattered and clashed steel, their chapped lips curling over teeth as they laughed and joked, breath hanging in the ice-air. Birds landed for crumbs of bread; leftovers for those indulged enough to waste food. Footsteps crunched across the snow as men traipsed back and forth in anticipation of the sun rising to greet the new day. She could still feel Ulfric eyes on her.

"Good broth, this."  
>Sottë jumped, spilling the watery broth down her chin. She tried to wipe it off nonchalantly, as if it was the new way of eating broth. To her relief, only Ralof smiled at her as she opened her eyes. She had not spoke to him since the dragon at Windhelm. Sottë shrugged her agreement, swirling the remainders of the liquid in its bowl in frozen fingers. The sun was beginning to rise behind the trees that blocked their view of it, pink skies becoming diluted by its demanding presence as it dragged its orange streaks behind it like a resistant child.<p>

"It'll be an honor to fight alongside the Dragonborn today." Ralof offered. "I'm sure Jarl Ulfric will want to see what you can do."  
>She cringed at his wording. Clearly, gossip did not travel as quickly as she anticipated. She smiled at the man.<br>"Thank you." Sottë beamed up at him, and he returned the smile kindly, and with no hidden intentions, for a moment.

"Looks like they're all gathering," Ralof told her, offering her a hand. "Finish your broth. Let's go."

She left the bowl steaming in the snow, taking his offered hand to help her up from the ground. She brushed the dust-like snow from her legs, glancing up as she did so to see Ulfric still gazing at her. His gaze burned her, not so different now. She clenched her jaw angrily, raw emotion bubbling in her stomach.

The other men were already gathered around the Jarl and Galmar. Rank dictated that she should be with them, but she was a soldier and would not act as a celebrity. Ulfric's indifferent gaze drifted over her as she joined the ranks of the men before quickly moving on.

"It has not been a thing of luck, mostly, that we have made it this far in our effort to free Skyrim for her true sons and daughters; for that is who you are this morning by joining the fight."  
>"Skill and bravery have brought us to this point in our soon-to-be history that could not have been avoided by any Imperial Army solider, no matter how they may profess to retain the upper hand of knowledge and wealth and culture."<br>"Remember what your true heritage is as you fight and die for Skyrim. You fight for the freedom of men and women again. May Talos guide us in that."

There was a murmur of agreement and repetition of "Talos guide us" throughout the men, the short and quiet speech giving the impression more of an intimate chat.

Sottë saw a few images as she blinked to clear her mind: Ulfric removing his sword from its sheath, Galmar watching him warily as he followed suit, the half-question on Edda's face as she caught her eyes and the encouraging smile of Heddvild. Sottë inhaled the frosty air, feeling it pool into her chest, as she withdrew her two blades.

A roar greater than she expected erupted from them when the march began upwards to the fort.

* * *

><p>She had passed familiar faces, helmeted and not, as she paced her own ways through the halls of the fort. Men had been dispatched on different tasks of securing the fort, and she had chosen her own path. It had been near deserted so far, with little to block her way but spiderwebs.<p>

_"Halt!" Ulfric had yelled after her when she had passed him, her booted feet thundering on the stone. At first, she had thought he spoke to an enemy. The hostility in his voice would have implied as such._

_She had not complied, instead thundered further into the narrowing corridor._  
><em>"Did you not hear me? I told you to halt!"<em>  
><em>She had only eventually stopped to ease her breathing; running for this long was taking its toll. She had felt his gauntleted hand close around her wrist, seizing her back.<em>

_She wished she had not been forced to do so, for he was splashed with blood across his face that left her imagining the painful and merciless death of his enemy. She had cringed obviously, recoiled from his presence. _

_"On who's orders do you venture this deep into the tower?" Ulfric had commanded, making her feel like an Unblooded again. Her eyes had remained cast to the floor, the blood causing bile to catch in her throat.  
>"My own." She muttered. It did not sound as heroic as she had planned. Instead she sounded like a girl; too young to fight and too underdeveloped for thought.<br>An expression had crossed his face, she had been sure, that he had remembered the events of the past few days. Yet almost as quickly as it had appeared had it left his face. He released her hand.  
>"Go, then." He said. "Go, and don't allow some responsible man to take the blame for you this time."<em>

She scowled at the recent memory. She couldn't believe he had the audacity of speaking of blame and where it lay. The man had no idea of how he had uprooted her life both in years past and present, perhaps even in the years to come. Her life had revolved around her family until she had taken to the life of a thief, and to attempt to bring that focus back or take it away in such a crude manner shook her like a horse spooked.

Sottë chewed her chapped bottom lip as she readied her right hand to allow a better grip on the sword she held there. The rooms were dark, shadows low from the singular, low-burning torch. If she crossed the room, she could seize it and and make use of its remaining light.

Shapes twisted ahead of her. Angular shadows from the low light emerged, her mind foolishly not registering the danger of it.

"Drop the swords, Nord."  
>Breath dripped from her mouth in the shock as her head whipped from the side to see where the voice stemmed from. She counted four Imperial Army infantrymen, two archers at their back. The one that had spoke stood to the front, obviously the leader of the unit.<p>

If anything, his command forced a tighter grasp on her weapons. She gritted her teeth to brace herself.

"If you drop the swords we shall postpone your execution." He said, his voice slow as if she struggled with understanding him. Sottë stepped back as they neared her, casting a glance over her shoulder to ascertain her available space. More of them, more than the amount of the initial unit, fanned out behind her, blocking the way back. She assessed her chances of escape. Sottë exhaled at her foolishness, allowing her swords to slip from her grip as she submitted.

"On your knees." The same Imperial spoke. The others were silent, the flames shining against the whites of their eyes in the dark. Only she seemed willing to meet their eyes. All, bar him who spoke, avoided her own eyes as she followed his order.

He unsheathed his sword in an almost comically distinguished manner that allowed Sottë to infer that he had trained always indoors with friends, and never had been required to hunt for his dinner. He pointed the expertly sharpened sword directly at her heart. He alternated between her neck and heart, allowing the cold steel to drift over the exposed flesh of her neck. He had been trained, but he was as young as her; he did not know how to perform a quick and tidy execution. Sottë had witnessed them, messy and not.

She wouldn't die with her eyes closed. If the rest would not meet her eyes, she would meet those of the only man who would, even as he pierced her heart with his blade.

"Do it already, runt." She grinned, flashing her teeth in the dark. She was satisfied in his obvious fury at the implication of him being anything other than strong and stable. His eyes lit up with it as he tightened his grip on the sword as he prepared to make the final push.

"Halt!" A voice sounded from behind her. She could hear the men behind her struggle to contain it, only jostling the man to them in the center of them. Her executioner refrained from ending her life to blink at him, lips curling over his teeth in a smirk.

"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak." He chuckled. "So nice to finally meet you. One does hear so much of you nowadays that I have been wanting to meet you for some time."  
>Ulfric ignored his taunts. "Take me instead of her."<p>

Sottë gasped at it. "No, please! For the love of-"  
>"Hrmm. Not a bad deal, actually." The man mused, pacing in his limited space. "Trade the Nord bitch for probably the most wanted man in the Empire. Seems like a good trade of for me."<p>

"But it would be easier just to take you both." He finished, coming to an end in front of his pacings in front of Sottë. She lowered her head to the ground. The sound of a sword unsheathing alarmed her; Ulfric had drawn his own and had it pointed to his own throat.  
>"That would just be a waste of time for us both, runt."<p>

The man sighed. He half-heartedly let his foot collide heavily with Sottë's stomach, throwing her backwards across the floor. She curled and doubled up on the floor, coughing and retching for breath as if her stomach forced its way up through her mouth.

"Take the Jarl. Leave the girl here."


	13. Chapter 13

She didn't know how long she had run through the identical corridors of Fort Hraggstad, nor how long it had been since the battle had ended. She was sure she had traced the same corridor more than once. The men were nowhere to be seen outside the fort, nor on the road back to Windhelm as she thundered her way through it.

When she brought herself to a halt in the Palace of the Kings, her legs shook from their overexertion. Galmar and a handful of other men looked up at her as soon as the doors shut behind her, the dining table being used as a makeshift war table for their larger maps.

"Where is the Jarl?" Galmar asked immediately, disregarding her wellbeing. Sottë bowed her head in an attempt to regain her breath. Her stomach still ached from where the Imperial had kicked her. She knew that she would regain her breath quickly; to be the bringer of the news filled her with dread that she could not fully articulate.  
>"He..." Sottë began. She knew that she could not sweeten such a thing. "He was...captured."<p>

Galmar's eyes widened at her. "He was _captured_?" He asked incredulously. She nodded, ashamed eyes falling to the ground. "I knew I was a fool to allow him on the battlefield. So you made no attempt to lay down your own life for him, as is pledged in the oath?"

Sottë recalled the images of the soldiers outnumbering them, Ulfric threatening them with his own death if they did not allow her to go in place of him. She cringed inwardly.  
>"No," she sighed.<br>"Go." Galmar seemed disgusted with her paltry words. "You are dismissed. You will be sent for when we require your assistance with the matter."

She could feel their eyes on her back until she exited out the door in shame once more.

* * *

><p>The cell at Fort Hraggstad was probably the smallest yet most dank Ulfric had ever been in. It had been a while, but he still remembered what it was like to become almost permanently adjusted to its darkness and marked meals of less-than stellar rations.<p>

He was surprised when the soldiers didn't treat him with marked respect or disrespect. They had been as silent as he had been as they had led him to the other prisoners at the back of the fort. The two small lines of the dark cells were mostly empty; perceived threats of differing races inhabited few of them. One of the cells closest to his own towards the back held an argonian, her eyes flickering with that familiar look of recognition he often caught on the rare occasion he ventured outside of Windhelm.

He could hear their attempts to talk quietly about him.  
>"And Tullius...?"<br>"I've sent our quickest messenger to him."  
>"Would it not be easier to call for him in person?"<p>

He could almost hear the second voice pause. "That would only be asking for trouble."  
>"Will he not want to...see things through?" The first voice replied.<br>"Undoubtedly. Whether that means observing or carrying out the execution himself."

Ulfric settled himself against the cold wall of his cell, his position against the wall nearest to the cell's door allowing him only to see into the cell opposite him. He closed his eyes against the garish light outside to wait for what was to come.

* * *

><p>Galmar squinted at the gathered men in the entrance hall to the Palace of the Kings. He hated speaking to large groups of peoples, gods knew Ulfric was the one born with the personality for it. The situation itself was stressful enough. It had been almost five days since the battle had ended and all their attempted strategies seemed idiotic. Their best men had gone missing, seemingly having deserted their cause. Galmar had sent couriers to them all to no avail yet.<p>

He could only hope that the Imperials failed to communicate quickly and would not move the Jarl.

Thankfully, there was an interruption before he could speak.  
>"Stop!" A familiar female voice was yelling through the chatter. Sottë squeezed her way through the men looking in every direction in search of her voice. "Stop this, I have something that we can use to our advantage."<p>

She lowered her voice to speak to Galmar and avoid alerting the men. She waved a piece of parchment at him. It was her summons from the Greybeards from a few months before, battered and worn with indecision.

"Yes, I knew of this, Storm-Blade." Galmar sighed.  
>"No, I don't mean me being the Dragonborn." Sottë said tentatively seizing the parchment from him. "The Greybeards have helped me gather the Voice; they directed me to an area of particular help. I have at least three Shouts under my belt now, and I know how to articulate them properly. I think."<br>Her words washed over him in shock. Galmar attempted to understand them.  
>"So you're trying to say that you now have...what exactly?"<br>She rolled her eyes at him. "We must mount an attack on Hraggstad as quickly as possible if you wish to return the Jarl to Windhelm alive."  
>"Alright," Galmar conceded. "Storm-Blade you're with me; if we're to be successful this time we don't want a repeat of the battle."<p>

* * *

><p>Ulfric was certain he was going slowly insane.<p>

At least, it seemed like a possibility. Staring at the same square of stone in his cell ached his eyes, causing him to see only the darkness of his closed eyes. The lack of food and sleep over the merged days had made his head spin. Water in low and questionable quantities had been provided to sustain him. Sounds of conversation and nearing footsteps now became as indiscernible as snow in the wind.

That was why he was certain he was going insane.

He had expected Tullius within the first few hours of his capture, had expected death at the sword avoided at Helgen on his neck almost immediately. It never came, and he began to suspect that it was part of their plan to starve him slowly to death. He would now allow himself to believe that the Empire had no decency or respect with their enemies.

Ulfric had heard them remove one of the other prisoners from their cell early on in his own imprisonment and had not heard them place them back in their cell. He wondered if they had taken the argonian out of her cell to execute or torture her for whatever perceived crime she had committed.

Was he dying? He realized now, despite his revolutionary behaviour, he had lived a comfortable life. A safe upbringing and quick transition to Jarl of Eastmarch at a young age had never really brought him close to death, never in such a slow manner. Death was tantalizingly within reach now. The waiting would destroy him.

The soldiers' patrolling of the corridors did not concern him anymore, not even when some turned to run back to the right of the block and towards the door. An escaped prisoner, his foggy mind suggested.

He was certain he was going insane. Some of them were on fire as they escaped back to the west of the block, their screams not registering with him. He was unsure if the sleep deprivation had finally won him to sleep, for he saw Sottë there. Galmar was at her side and some of the men, including Heddvild, behind them. Ulfric felt his eyes drift to Sottë; she was a different kind of radiant to him than usual. He could be easily fooled, but fire had begun to issue from her mouth in a tumultuous rush. Imperial Army soldiers would race each other to escape it, some too unlucky to be caught and surrendering their final moments to feeling the skin melt from their bones.

* * *

><p>Sottë narrowed her eyes at the dimly-lit block. She quickly took the keys that had fell from the last man's belt, one or two scorched from her newly acquired skill.<p>

She quickly sheathed her swords, eyes dotting between the cells on each side as she paced up the aisle. Some were occupied by civilians, but that was a secondary objective to her. When Sottë spotted him, hunched and pathetic in a tiny cell still in the armor and bloodstains from the battle, she lowered herself to her knees to see the lock of the cell. Her hands shook as she tried to find the correct key.

She could sense him staring at her if she were a trick.  
>"Is it really you?" He said, his voice barely audible due to its lack of use. Sottë smiled, feeling the lump forming in her throat.<br>"It is."  
>"Hmh. Typical." He breathed, closing his eyes. Sottë scowled at him. Something clicking signified she had successfully unlocked the door with the correct key.<p>

Sottë reached Ulfric quickly, shaking him by the shoulder to wake him. His eyes flickered open momentarily.  
>"Can you walk?" She asked. Ulfric nodded, placing a hand against the wall to seize him up. His legs would not allow him to walk. <em>He would never admit it, though<em>, she thought.  
>"Give me your hand."<br>She half-supported him as he did so, leading him out of the cell to the rest of the men. The nearby Ralof seized him from her.

Relief flooded her and she tried not to show it as she rejoined Galmar. She sensed the matter would be discussed and planned around back at the Palace. He grinned at her, confirming her relief.

A young Imperial Army soldier was in their path, the exit to the cell block. A look of terror was on her face, and her hand did not automatically go for her weapon, a sign of one new to a civil war. Her lips were attempting to form words that were lost to her.  
>I-I..." The girl was saying. "You-"<p>

Sottë stopped in her tracks, making the soldier behind her bump into her as she did so.  
>"Inna?" Sottë said, her voice low and deadly. "Please tell me that's not you in an Imperial Army uniform."<br>Heddvild pushed through the men towards the back to reach her twin sister.  
>"By the Nine, it is her." Heddvild said, shock hitting her at its slowest.<p> 


	14. Chapter 14

"Honestly, Jorleif, I'm fine. You worry too much." Ulfric dismissed his steward with a wave of the hand. It had been two days since Ulfric had been recovered from his short yet difficult imprisonment at Fort Hraggstad and he had recovered fully, he thought.

Jorleif eyed him warily as Ulfric settled back into his lazy slouch on his throne. "Forgive me, my lord. I've seen too many of the men I've gotten to know die recently. It's a bit unnerving not being able to do anything whilst they die out there and I'm left here to find out what's happened."

Ulfric grunted his agreement, seizing the goblet Jorleif offered.  
>"Just you wait until you see what the Palace has in store tonight, Jorleif." Ulfric chuckled. "If we're going to die in taking Solitude at least let it be after a good shindig."<br>"My lord...?" Jorleif looked positively terrified.  
>"Oh, don't look so scared. Have I ever let you down?" Ulfric said, taking a long swig from his goblet. Jorleif pinched the bridge of his nose anxiously.<p>

"What news is there of the Andrel girl?" Ulfric asked, interrupting Jorleif's train of thought. Ulfric immediately recognized the look of confusion on his steward's face. They had housed three Andrel girls now, after all.  
>"Inna." Ulfric added.<br>"Oh," Jorleif said. "The men didn't take too kindly to bringing an Imperial Army soldier here, especially to the Palace of the Kings. They seem to think it's some complex plot to assassinate you from what I've heard."  
>Ulfric laughed. "The girl must be barely eighteen, hardly a grand threat in the stability of the Palace."<br>Jorleif nodded. "I shall see to it that the girl is catered for until the Storm-Blade arrives."

* * *

><p>Sottë collided with someone as soon as she exited her old room at Candlehearth Hall. She had lodged there once more after Ulfric's revelation after their night spent together. She found something odd in that she trusted him to tell her the truth of her father's death. Her screamings would not help a man half-starved to death.<p>

Her smaller, more personal belongings she had piled in her arms scattered to the ground after the collision.  
>"Stenvar!" Sottë gasped, winded. In the past few days' chaos she had completely forgotten of how she had left him at the altar. He looked grim; he no longer looked well-groomed or well-fed. He looked especially uncomfortable.<br>"Sottë." He replied, nodding at her. She quickly gathered her sparse personal belongings. Her mother's old burnt circlet, a barely-afforded tiny painted portrait of her mother, beautiful and olive-skinned in a pensive pose, long before she had children, the picture set in a rotting wooden frame. There was also her amulet of Talos and a bloated framed sketch of herself, courtesy of a six-year-old Inna.

Stenvar began to walk to the back of the inn.  
>"Wait!" Sottë called. "Wait, allow me to explain!"<br>She could discern the look of contempt for her on Stenvar's face as she neared him. At least this way they would be out of the earshot of the gossipy Elda Early-Dawn.  
>"You could have explained, perhaps better for me, the night before the...what would have been the wedding."<p>

Sottë knew she deserved that.

"You would have thought that the decent thing to do would have been to allow me to know your real feelings instead of letting me worry for your safety for days, because Sottë wouldn't leave me at the altar, not that lass. But you left me to hearing pub gossip of your fling with _the Jarl_, of all people."  
>"It wasn't like that." She said through gritted teeth. "It wasn't like that at all."<br>Stenvar laughed bitterly. "Well, what should I expect you to do? Ask for another chance and slower this time? Claim your undying love for the Jarl of Eastmarch and me to go on as if nothing's changed, to give you my blessing?"  
>"As if nothing's happened..." Sottë added. She tried to ignore the bemused look he gave her.<br>"You're not quite what I thought you were." Stenvar said. "You're not eccentric, just strange and odd. That's not someone I would want to raise children with."  
>Sottë felt her mouth fall open. She hoped she planned on replying smartly, yet nothing came.<p>

She occupied herself with the short walk to the Palace instead, turning on her heel against Stenvar's presence.

"I'm coming with you." Ulfric had spoke as soon as she entered and had attempted to cross the entrance hall upstairs to Inna. He almost bolted from his throne to join her in climbing the stone stairs.

"Stay and rest, my lord." Her words were kind but they lacked warmth. They sounded positively angry and sharp to him.  
>"Are you still angry with me?"<br>"Absolutely."  
>"At least let me explain how your father-"<br>"Please!" She interrupted, shooting a scared glance up the corridor at the study Inna was locked in. "Can this not wait until I've dealt with Inna?"  
>He conceded, nodded after a few seconds of thought. "Very well. I will accompany you."<p>

As she pushed open the door to Inna's holding area, she knew it was pointless to argue with him now.

The girl was very different to how she remembered. She was identical to Heddvild in every physical respect except for the hair. Inna had her hair in the thick, wavy locks that Heddvild had possessed before she had sheared them off. Even though the twins had only just made eighteen years of age, Inna was a newlywed to a man Sottë had never heard of nor ever met.

She paced the room like a caged animal accustomed to murder. As soon as they entered she glowered at them in such a way that looked odd on her gentle face.  
>"Sottë." Inna growled. "I demand that you leave this movement at once. It is uncivilized and brutish in its attempt to reclaim some lost ideal of Skyrim."<p>

Inna shot a thoroughly dirty look at Ulfric.

Sottë crossed her arms, laughing. She cast a disbelieving glance at Ulfric that he barely caught in time.  
>"Oh, please, child." Sottë scoffed. "If you can't behave and see truth you'll be locked in this study for the rest of your days."<br>"Or at least until you see sense." Ulfric added. Sottë tried not to scowl at him.  
>"That's fine by me." Inna huffed, always the petulant child. "When I leave this foolishness I'll be able to visit General Tullius directly to finish what was started at Hraggstad."<br>"Then you'll be here a very long time if that's your opinion."

"Do you not think if I planned on assassinating the Jarl I would have done it by now?" Inna snapped.  
>"She has a point," Ulfric said, turning to Sottë. "She has had ample opportunity to kill me, from the moment of my capture to tonight, with the ball."<br>Sottë glared at him, muttering something about him being a fool.

"Call for Jorleif when you require food. We'll have someone guard the door. Good day." Sottë said to her sister, nodding at her before they left, locking the door after them.

"I highly doubt your ball tonight is the best idea, not when we plan on taking Solitude so soon." Sottë said. "Perhaps a celebration would be better planned for afterwards, if there is such a time."  
>"And if there is no afterwards?" He said. "It would be a shame to die with no acknowledgement of our success this far."<br>She squinted up at him. "It is only a fool that celebrates a possible outcome as if it is set in stone."  
>"There is some truth to that." Ulfric nodded. She still squinted at him, as if his agreement preceded a joke. "I have something for you."<br>He beckoned for her to follow him. Her memory was particularly relentless in reminded her of the last time she had gone to his room with him.

"This," he handed her a piece of ink-covered parchment from his desk. Sottë read the parchment slowly, words not registering no matter how many times she read it through. He looked thoroughly pleased with the parchment, grinning at her as she read it.  
>"Is this true?" Sottë asked. "Is it not a joke?"<br>"No, it's quite true." Ulfric beamed. "That is why I needed such a front for tonight. Otherwise Windhelm would be too busy a place."

Sottë whooped, a rather startling thing it was to him, and threw her arms around his neck. He knew immediately that she regretted it, feeling her freeze almost instantly. He was suddenly very aware of her proximity to him. Ulfric was sure that she would allow, no want, him to kiss her. As soon as it crossed his mind, she withdrew herself, brushing down her hair as if she had just come in from a windy day.  
>"I shall see you tonight, then." She grinned, winking at him unexpectedly.<p> 


	15. Chapter 15

The city of Windhelm was alive that night. The streets were fresh with both some noblemen and mostly peasantry from other holds, swathed in their best clothes for a night of merrymaking before the storm hit.

Inna sat on the floor behind the luxurious bed that had been made up for her. She refused to touch it, instead resigning herself to watching Stormcloaks pass by her newly-opened door. She knew the guard was itching to leave with his shift coming to an end.

"Folmer." A voice acknowledged him. "I'm here to relieve you."  
>Inna looked up over her knees. Her twin, Heddvild, stood there. To Inna, her boy-short hair looked ridiculous, especially coupled with her midnight blue finery. The greatsword strapped to her back gave her an even greater air of oddity, Inna thought. The man left, eager to join downstairs.<br>"Sister," Heddvild greeted her. Inna remained silent. Heddvild sighed when she did not reply. "You could at least talk to me. I gave up a good night at the last minute just to look after you, you know."

"Don't patronize me." Inna spat. "You treat me as if I'm the one who has lost their mind."  
>She turned to face the large window, watching the heavily made-up noblewomen and uncomfortable-looking soldiers associate amongst themselves like old friends.<br>Heddvild rolled her eyes, turning back to her post. "I love you too, sister." She muttered under her breath.

* * *

><p>Sottë dreaded leaving her room in the Palace. She looked ridiculous. The dressfitter had assured her that her designs were muted and trustworthy. She had not told Sottë that she planned on attempting to make her wear this number.<p>

From a distance, the detail of the dress was not as bad, and she dared to think that she looked decent given the circumstance. Up close, however, the intended detail was obvious. The old woman had crafted her a dress that looked very much like the dark and shiny red hide of an elder dragon when it danced in the flame of its breath, despite the thing being made of fabric. It clung to her more than she liked, and the slit up the side only made her feel self-conscious about her battle-scarred legs.

A matching diadem of gold replaced her old copper circlet. It had streaks of burgundy running through it, with two scarlet pieces of garnet inlaid on the far sides, giving the illusion of the wise old eyes of a dragon. The bottom had been fashioned in the appearance of small teeth, barely jutting down over her forehead. She must be joking, it was obviously done with regards to her recent outing as the _dovahkiin_. It was in very poor taste.

The choice of a dress was limited, Sottë knew. It was this or her discarded wedding dress. Her opinion of the current dress seemed to increase.

She exhaled deeply, casting a worried glance over her sheathed swords on her bed. She locked the door to ensure they would be there should the situation require them.

"You don't look that bad!" She could hear Heddvild's voice calling from further along the corridor, reading her mind. Sottë grimaced at her, uncomfortable as her eyes took in her appearance. "You look very pretty, actually."

"Thanks." Sottë said. It was easy for Heddvild to say. Even with her closely-cropped hair she had had most of the men watching her as she had crossed the entrance hall to go upstairs. It had made Sottë even more anxious about herself. Being the older sister warranted some matching, if not superior, effort, and she had never been in the Palace in anything other than her Stormcloak armor and her modest everyday wear.

"I shall be able to come down in a few hours, see you then!" Heddvild called after Sottë as she descended the stairs, her stomach fluttering. She could already hear the commotion from downstairs. The bards sung, footsteps of a different speeds added to the raucous chatter and laughter of men and women.

She had to stifle her reaction at the hall. It was wondrous. The large banquet tables had all vanished, except for a handful of smaller ones that dotted the outside of the hall. The Stormcloak banner fluttered from posts and walls across the room. Men and women she recognized from battle danced together, some less skillfully than others. She instantly recognized Ralof and Edda, quite lost in a world of their own as they danced.

Sottë tried to ignore some of the glances people were giving her from across the room as she hurried to a table nearest the door and sat herself down in one of its chairs. She took a goblet of mead from the table, sipping at it for courage. Only a few more hours and she could retire from this façade.

When Ulfric offered his hand to her, Sottë had come to realize that he would not leave her alone for anything. She didn't know if that was soothing or a complete annoyance. Probably a bit of both.  
>Ulfric beckoned for her to get up, gingerly taking her hand and bringing her to dance. Sottë tried to blankly place her hand on his shoulder as she felt his own hand slip to her waist.<p>

"You look lovely, _dovah_." He chuckled. She noted his usage of dragon and not dragonborn. _Ah, the outfit_, Sottë realized.

"Where's my father?" She said in his ear. Ulfric grinned down at her.

"He's not here yet." He said. "I have my best men on the gate to the Palace and throughout Windhelm to inform us of his arrival as soon as it happens."  
>"Excellent." She nodded, willing the bard to finish her song. As they passed other couples, she could see the men looking at her, some after double takes. Not all of them looked at her face, and she tried to focus her time on glaring at such men. One or two withdrew their gazes ashamedly.<p>

"Don't look so uncomfortable." Ulfric laughed. He enjoyed this much more than her.  
>"If you haven't noticed the dressmaker you recommended dressed me as a bloody dragon."<br>"You're the dragonborn, aren't you?"  
>"Yeah, that doesn't mean I'm an actual dragon." Sottë huffed. Ulfric shrugged.<br>"It suits you."  
>"Well, I can't argue with that, can I?" She had hissed it sarcastically, but he knew there was at least some truth to it.<p>

The bard stopped sooner than she anticipated. He released her quicker than she did with him. Sottë applauded out of custom, sneaking a sideways glance of Ulfric as he applauded. He seemed happier than she had ever seen him despite being captured by the enemy only days prior. He also seemed to be getting more sleep, which eased her worries of him. He had engaged more with the men, talking and laughing with them at mealtimes. She and him spoke less and less with each passing day. A small voice in the back of her mind suggested that she worried he had moved on without her and left her behind, no longer caring for her. Sottë shook off her own emotions to allow herself to focus.

Ulfric caught her sideways glance, clapping still. He beamed at her once more as he nodded his head to the doorway. Sottë turned. Her father had entered the Palace, closing the great doors behind him. Only she and Ulfric had recognized him. From the memories she had of him, she knew that the hairs on his head were fewer, and he still walked with the limp and subsequent stick she remembered. Age had not been unkind nor kind to him, but he was unrecognizable.

Sottë squeezed through the crowds, ignoring disgruntled cries of one or two men and women. He smiled at her weakly and guiltily, as if he had deliberately attempted to ruin her childhood with his feigned death. Sottë immediately flung her arms around her father's back, not unlike she would have done as a young girl. After a moment, he warmly reciprocated, chuckling at her joy.

"Why aren't you dead?" Sottë asked in an almost childlike manner.  
>"It's nice to see you again, too." Viktor replied. Sottë could feel him laughing. He broke away from her, surveying her fully.<br>"By the Nine, you're all grown up. The last time I saw you, you were barely old enough to string a bow."  
>Sottë breathed a laugh. "I should hope I can now." She slipped her arm into his. "Come upstairs, there's someone who wants to see you."<p>

He allowed her to lead them towards the stairs, nodding only at Ulfric as they passed to avoid suspicion. Sottë willed her shaking hands to steady enough to allow her to help her father up the stairs.  
>"Heddvild!" Sottë called. She had no idea of how she would react, having only Sottë's word of Ulfric's responsibility for Viktor's supposed death. Would she even recognize him?<br>She saw Heddvild look up at them both from her post outside the locked door and then saw her father hobble towards the girl.

"That's Heddvild?" He hid a grin and leaned heavily on his walking stick. "I don't believe it, not ever."  
>Heddvild glared at him. "It is me. I'm sorry, sir, if-"<br>He broke out into laughter after that, forcing her to stop. "Father?"  
>He nodded, wrinkles around his eyes becoming more prominent as he smiled and welcomed her embrace.<br>"It can't be you," Heddvild sniffed. Sottë could have sworn she saw tears on the girl's cheek. "It must be some sort of a trick."  
>"It is no trick." Viktor replied, his own voice thick with emotion.<p>

Sottë silently rejoined downstairs to allow them both to know each other passed faded memories.

The bard seemed as if she was getting tired with the evening growing in age, her song becoming slower and sweeter. Ulfric was dancing with a barely-recognizable blond noblewoman from another Hold. Sottë intercepted quickly with a tap on his shoulder. She dared not chance a look a the woman's surprised face in case she burst into a fit of laughter in her giddy state.  
>"You're dancing with me." Sottë told him, leading to the back of the hall.<br>"Fantastic," Ulfric half-cheered as they settled back into their previous dancing. "That woman- I have no idea who she was- was an awful dancer. Also, she looked nothing like a dragon."

Sottë lifted her head in a laugh at that. "So the best women look like dragons?"  
>Ulfric shrugged. "I don't know. There's one girl around here who caught my eye. She set all the men's tongues wagging. She would probably never look at an old man like me, though."<br>"She might. There's probably some sort of Shout you could find to help you with that."  
>"I'm afraid I did not receive such praise for my last Shout. I wouldn't want to enunciate incorrectly and cause her some great offence."<p>

Sottë shook her head, laughing. "Will you not come and see him again?"  
>"Viktor?" Ulfric asked, to which Sottë nodded. "If he wishes to see me."<br>"Come on." Sottë grabbed his hand from her waist to lead him through the slowly-moving crowd. The smell of mead was more evident than it had been at the beginning of the night.  
>"You will be the death of me, girl."<p>

She smirked back at him before continuing. Sottë released his hand at the top of the stairs. Viktor and Heddvild sat in animated conversation on a bench in the corridor. He looked up almost the moment they ascended the stairs.

"Stormcloak!" Viktor greeted, shaking his hand ferociously. "Thank you for this, from the bottom of my heart; thank you."  
>Ulfric returned his smile uncertainly. "No, need to thank me, Viktor. You would have done the same for me if the situation called for it."<p>

"Where have you been all these years, father?" Sottë asked.  
>Viktor leaned heavily on his walking stick. "This is the first time I've been back in Skyrim for a few years after the death faking. Morrowind was a resting place for a good few years."<p>

Sottë furrowed her brow. "I could have sworn you were dead, father. I mean, I found the cave...the bandits..."  
>Viktor grinned. "And a body?"<br>"Well, a skeleton. I just assumed..."  
>"Aha! It worked." Viktor laughed. "If it worked on my own daughter, it could fool a brainless Imperial Army soldier."<br>Heddvild and Sottë exchanged glances that they knew related to the topic of Inna.  
>"Father, come with me," Heddvild began. "I have a temporary residence in Windhelm that I can have you set up in within the hour."<p>

As soon as they had left, Sottë triumphantly threw her arms around Ulfric's neck, raising herself on her toes to do so. It took him by surprise, yet he reciprocated with an arm around her waist. When she began a now-familiar kiss, it was a lot less hasty than their previous kisses. It was not done out of fear of being caught or for the immediate end of both their lives, it was done in spite of those things.

She could tell he knew they may be caught, despite their relationship being good gossip lately, and that their lives may very much end in attempting to take Solitude.  
>"I'm staying with you tonight." Sottë stated as she withdrew, lowering back to her smaller height.<br>"Well, I can't argue with that, can I?" He repeated her words from before, taking her hand to lead her away.


	16. Chapter 16

Metal, white-hot and sharp was piercing her skin. She could hear the noise of her flesh puncturing as the blade slid through her arm, peeling away muscle like the peel from a fruit. She couldn't move, her body was immobile despite being free of ties. She could not even move her mouth to call for help; the movement of her eyes exhausted her. The barely-set blade carved into her upper arm that she could feel the damage to her bone. When the pain become unbearable and she swore she would vomit, she finally wrenched her eyes shut.

Then it was over, and she was awake. Sottë felt the perspiration on her forehead from the nightmare and blinked her eyes awake. Ulfric was there, peering down at her and securing her in his arms to prevent her from falling.  
>"What is it?" He asked, searching her pained face for clues. He swept a large section of soaked hair that had stuck to her sweaty forehead away from her face. "What's wrong?"<br>Sottë panted, attempting to find the ability to speak. "Just a bad dream." She lied, allowing her gaze to drift past him and to her upper arm.

He narrowed his eyes above her. "Really? Just a bad dream?"  
>Sottë tried to grin, but she knew it to be more of a grimace. She shrugged dramatically. He sighed and returned back to the other side of the bed.<p>

"So, I liked the ball more than I expected." Sottë stated, scooting closer to his warm body. She could feel him laugh beneath her.  
>It was Ulfric's turn to shrug. "It was okay," he said. "Its only redeeming part was the one beautiful girl."<br>She looked up at him, rolling her eyes at him and smirking.

"Oh, please." She laughed. Ulfric lifted his eyes from her, gazing out at the very early hours of the morning.  
>"Are you still annoyed that I couldn't tell you about your father?" Ulfric asked.<br>"Of course not!" Sottë near-yelled. "You brought him back to me."  
>"Then that's enough for me, Sottë."<p>

She gasped at him in a mock-dramatic manner. "That's the first time you've ever said my name."  
>Ulfric furrowed his brow. He knew it to be true. "What? I don't think it is."<br>"No, it is, you usually call me by my title or by _dovahkiin_."  
>"Hmm, that must be true, then." He teased sighing heavily. "I don't know why you would even bother with an old fool like me sometimes."<p>

"Probably because I love you." Sottë said quickly.  
>"I remember the last time you said that." He said. "A worse time of lies."<br>Sottë felt her palms sweat and prayed to the Nine he would not notice. He reacted by taking one of her smaller hands in his own. "I love you, too." He added. Sottë felt herself release a breath she had not noticed she had held.

Sottë leaned to kiss him as she sat upright.  
>"Oh crap." She said, breaking away. "I forgot I was supposed to be guarding Inna after Heddvild."<br>Ulfric groaned in protest. "Just lock the door."  
>Sottë shot him a scathing look. "She <em>can <em>pick locks you know. She's my sister, after all. Anyway, standard procedure is that you lock the door from the inside and slide the key under the door to the next guard."  
>"That dangerous, huh?"<p>

He watched her rummage in his wardrobe and select an unworn brown tunic under a peach quilted robe. Sottë shook her head as the clothes fell over her body.  
>"Not really," she laughed. "If the girl got out, it would be quite damaging if she ran and told Tullius of our plans to take Solitude."<br>"I'm sure the old fool already knows." Ulfric himself dressed quickly, walking to meet her. He accepted her into an embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid in that battle." Sottë said, her voice muffled.  
>"That depends on your definition of stupid." He chuckled. Sottë lifted her face to meet his eyes.<br>"Needless heroics at any turn; idiocy that stops you from coming back to me."  
>"I can't promise that." He said honestly.<br>"If you promise to live..." Sottë trailed off as she mulled things over in her head. "If you promise to live, then I promise I will marry you at the end of this war."  
>He raised his eyebrows. "Honestly?"<br>"Yes. But I can't marry you if you're dead."  
>"I'll try to remember that," Ulfric said, releasing her gently. "Go and guard your sister, Sottë."<br>"I will. Then I'll come back to you." She raised herself to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

* * *

><p>"My lord! Wake up, my lord!" Someone was shaking him awake. He had fallen asleep on the bed, and his instincts told him it was not Sottë waking him.<p>

"Hmm?" Ulfric sat up immediately. Jorleif was panting, seemingly exhausted.  
>"Fire, sir, spread throughout the corridors to some of the rooms. You're the last to evacuate, everyone assumed you were already out."<br>"Let's go."

Smoke was beginning to bleed through his door from the corridor. He lifted his sleeve to cover his mouth as they exited. The tapestries in the corridor burned, crumbling and setting light to the wooden benches and doors. It would be hard to burn the walls of stone, he assured himself.

Smoke already filled all the usually empty corridors, making it quite evident that nearly all the rooms burned individually, nearly meeting in flame. Bookshelves, furniture and ceiling supports collapsed in on themselves, littering their exit. Parts of the ceiling crumbled past their heads as their supporting pillars fell. Ulfric tried to ensure Jorleif was in front of him as they made their hasty exit. Even downstairs, the tables from the previous night all burned individually, catching tapestries and carpets on fire. He could feel the heat on his face as they edged around the furious flames. Larger parts of the upper floor were beginning to fall through. Small items fell through first, growing in size as they neared the door.

Ulfric could taste the smoke in his mouth and lungs, bitter and ugly.

Outside, the snow was a refreshing sight. All those who had stayed late at the ball were dispersed in the white, some sat and others watching smoke billow from the windows. Heddvild, her face ashen and grimy, was doubled over, issuing a hacking and wheezing cough into the snow. Edda sat bemused and staring in the snow, still in her finery. Ralof kept watch near her, equally as bemused as her. Viktor fussed over Heddvild, patting her back as she coughed. Galmar approached the Jarl. Others lay in the snow, lungs struggling to recover.

"Storm-Blade? Where is Storm-Blade?" Ulfric demanded of them. Some stared, unhearing, at the Palace burning. One or two averted their eyes guiltily.  
>"Where is she?" He could hear his own voice beginning to ascend in volume.<br>"My lord!" Galmar was in front of them, raising his own voice to be heard. "She was last guarding the Imperial soldier."  
>It flooded back to him. "In which the door is locked from the inside and the key is slid back under the door to another soldier."<br>"Yes." Galmar confirmed grimly.

"What?" Viktor limped forward, his own voice raising to a yell. "Stormcloak? You're not saying my daughter's still in there?"  
>The truth would be that two of his daughters were, and they all thought it, bar Viktor.<br>"I'm going back inside." Ulfric ignored them, starting back up the stairs.  
>"Oh no, you're not." Galmar said, seizing Ulfric's arm. "Storm-Blade knew the risk of becoming a Stormcloak. It's in the oath."<br>Ulfric shook him off. "An oath to me, I can revoke that oath if I please."  
>"I'm coming with you, my lord." Viktor added.<br>"No, I refuse to allow it!" Galmar yelled. "It's impossible; anyone inside there is dead by now."

Guilt set into Ulfric. How had he allowed himself to exit the Palace so carelessly? He tried to speak around the lump in his throat.  
>"Galmar, do not try to stop us in this." Viktor snapped, following Ulfric to the large doors.<br>"There's no way in!" Ulfric shouted above the roaring of the fire. "The doors are blocked from the other side!"

Viktor resigned himself to attempting to break down the door in vain. After exhausting himself, he dropped into the snow, dropping his stick. Ulfric watched the man's head fall into his hands, his body shaking.

Ulfric felt his numb hands go to his hair, where her hands had gone only hours before. Although he knew himself there was no other way to leave the castle, he looked. He knew the ceiling had collapsed behind the door.

He felt his mouth go dry, unable to speak. He attempted to compose himself to refrain from showing his romantic entanglement to Sottë as he helped Viktor to his feet. Sottë, the girl who had been born in flame with a temper and humor to match, whose blood was that of a dragon, whom he had saw absorb the spirit of a dragon with ease, was dead, and had died a slow, painful death alongside an estranged and hostile sister. The fire that she could control, had had issue from her mouth to save him, all for him, saw her end at it. Her recent words rang through his head _"If you promise to live, then I promise I will marry you at the end of this war"_.


	17. Chapter 17

Ulfric allowed himself to exhale when they entered Heddvild's dilapidated home outside the walls of Windhelm. He felt emotionally numb, old and unaffected by the old man sobbing at the loss of his eldest daughter. Heddvild had steered her father to the back of the house, presumably putting him to bed. Ulfric heard him sob long after he had gone.

Ralof and Edda muttered something about going for to scout out their surroundings before disappearing, Galmar drifting to the side room with a new-found map. Ulfric watched them depart until he was completely alone, unsure of what to make himself do. Heddvild had already placed herself on a large armchair across the room.

He tried to look at her, properly look at her. Where Sottë's features had been more angular, Heddvild's were softer and more traditional. Heddvild exuded confidence in her walk itself, something her older sister had never allowed herself to do.

She could not remind him less of Sottë if she tried, yet she was still a reminder of her. _A reminder_, he repeated in his mind. He repeated it again and again to ensure it was true.

They didn't talk, instead just choosing to echo the other's self-loathing and grief.  
>"She's- they're- not dead, you know." Heddvild said, drawing her knees up to her chin. "The Dragonborn doesn't die because of fire."<br>Ulfric resisted the urge to cringe. "The room she was being held in was to the back of the Palace with a small window and a strong door." He informed her, his voice a monotone. "I'll take the first watch."  
>"That is true," Heddvild agreed. "But she's not dead."<p>

He placed himself in a wooden chair at the table covered in books, watching her begrudgingly leave to attend her father. Ulfric stared at the documents for what felt like an age before he slipped out of consciousness.

**  
><em>She ran just out of reach. Ferns and green leaves blocked his immediate vision, and he could feel the moss underneath his fingernails on the nearby tree it rested on. When he swept around one branch of one new tree, she would be even further ahead of him, as if this was all a game to her. The more he grew annoyed at her games, the slower he became.<em>

_She sported her old wedding dress, now grass-stained and muddy, the hem wet and tattered. Yet it flowed around her ankles effortlessly as she ran from him. Something hit him emotionally when she looked over her shoulder to smirk at him, an unfamiliar circlet of silver and moonstone on her head. Her lips curling in that way reminded him of their second night together. It was such a knowing and almost intimidating expression, and she knew full well the effect it had on him._

_More trees littered their path as he tried to reach her, his own gait sluggish as if emerged in water. She turned away from him just in time to see the forest clear to a steep and crumbling cliff edge. She skidded to a halt at it, it was his collision with her that sent them down to the jagged rocks below. _

**  
>Ulfric shuddered awake. He supposed he had not slept too long, and in his newfound detachment from reality, familiar faces blurred before his eyes as he awoke.<p>

_"...says magic."_  
><em>"...from the outside."<br>"...everything gone."  
>"Suspicious? No."<em>

He heaved awake, jealousy setting in of his former unconscious self, one form of him who had not been able to fathom death and the abrupt end of love. He listened to them speak about Solitude and victory, as if any of it was still feasible.

"My lord?" Ralof peered down at him. Ulfric quickly drew himself to his feet. Ralof's face only served to remind him of Helgen. Images of her resigned face the first he saw it flashed back to him, seeing her try to mask the pain the bindings caused her. In his fury at being captured, he hadn't realized how close they had been in that cart. Trying to hide his frequent glances of her had been something he had not attempted to hide. He had been about to die, there was no shame at chancing a few looks at a pretty girl to fill the gap between life and death. He only remembered now that every so often she had shot him back a scowl when his attempts became less subtle, even after finding out who he was. He would laugh if the grief had not affected his ability to draw a significant amount of breath.

"Let me see the map." Ulfric stated. One or two blue flags had replaced the red since the fire, suggesting that some men on patrol had sent word of newly-captured Imperial camps. The singular major red flag of Solitude remained.  
>"Has word reached them of the fire yet?" Ulfric asked plainly. Galmar almost flinched at his blunt wording.<br>"No. At least, our spies haven't reported them to have yet."

"Tullius would be a fool to have no spies in Windhelm." Ulfric said.  
>"Some of our men should still be in the city." Edda added. "They weren't all in the Palace."<br>Ulfric nodded, gaze fixed on the map. They all knew there wasn't enough of them left to take Solitude, and with the Dragonborn dead they were at a significant disadvantage.  
>"We march on Solitude regardless. We must."<p>

There was a clattering at the door. Some of the men subconsciously moved closer to Ulfric and Galmar. When the door rattled open, Heddvild, her face aflame with fury, was silhouetted against the rising sun.  
>"Look who I found outside." She grunted, someone struggling against her as she pushed them to the ground. "Looks like the dead do walk among us."<p>

Inna coughed from the floor, sweeping her long hair from her ash-covered face. She forced herself to sit up, her leather Imperial Army armor creaking.  
>"I do have a reason to be here." She appealed to Heddvild. Her sister scoffed at her and crossed her arms. "Please, listen to me. I won't lie anymore."<br>"Speak and then you're gone." Ulfric growled, angry at her survival and not Sottë's.  
>"She's not dead." Inna panted, still out of breath. "She wasn't dead when I escaped, anyway."<p>

Ulfric tried not to display the emotions that shot through him.  
>"There's a cave to the west of here where they took us." Inna said.<br>"And who would _they _be?" Ulfric asked calmly.  
>"Mages! Some mages in strange masks came for us when she was guarding me and set fire to the Palace! They did it with magic they shot through the windows!"<br>"Take us there. Now."

* * *

><p>Finding horses would have been a waste of time. In an attempt to cover ground faster, their party consisted only of Ulfric, Heddvild, Ralof and Edda. Galmar and the other men would guard their new base of Heddvild's home until they could be of help.<p>

Inna brought up the front, out-striding them in her haste to find Sottë.  
>"This had better not be a trap." Heddvild grumbled. Inna ignored her.<p>

"In here." Inna said. The sun rising allowed proper sight in and outside of the cave despite their seemingly short march to it.  
>"This is not like I imagined." Ulfric said, his voice low. "When you said a cave full of mages I imagined chanting and magical lights. This is silence and an empty cave."<br>"I'm sure this is right. I counted the seconds of the turns and their direction when they blindfolded us."

They paced in formation through endless identical caverns, some smaller than others. Eventually, one opened up to a long, stone room.  
>"What is this?" Edda breathed.<br>"I don't know, but I'm guessing we're getting warmer." Ralof replied.

"Ugh, this is endless." Heddvild growled. Ulfric agreed mentally; pacing through an elongated stone chamber did not give him the best confidence in Inna's claims.

One or two wooden coffins, some open and empty, had been sparse at the start of the room. As they ventured deeper within it, they became more frequent, familiar sights. The gore within some opened ones were almost unrecognizable in what part of the body they pertained to.  
>"I remember this." Inna said. "I remember the coffins become bloodier."<br>"I'm glad you remembered to take in the view as you left your sister to die." Heddvild spat.

Inna scowled over her shoulder at her twin as she gingerly found the circular handle to a silver door and edged it open.

The light was low, lit by only two or three low-burned candles. The room was a darker, more weathered stone than the outside chamber. A wooden coffin rested at the far end of the room, sending dread directly to Ulfric's mind.

"No." Heddvild began repeating, pushing past the rest of them. "Get that thing open!"  
>Ulfric obliged, heaving the heavy lid to the ground.<p>

In the moment that it fell, he wished that he had gotten someone else to do it. The sight of her deathly grey skin, still form and bluing lips would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. She was not covered in ash like Inna had been, instead looking cleaner. They had changed her to some torn and grey cloth robe.

Sottë did not awake immediately. Ulfric allowed his hands to find her shoulders in attempt to wake her. As soon as he came into contact with her, her eyes shot open and she gasped, startling him.

"Someone's coming!" Edda hissed.  
>"Can you walk?" Ulfric attempted to communicate with Sottë, who was attempting to get out of the coffin unsuccessfully. The back of their group had already been leaving the room to face the enemies outside. "Can you hear me?"<p>

Sottë's eyes were still wide, as if she was amazed or shocked by all that happened. Her fingernails dug into his arms that he had attempted to steady her with. In his closer proximity to her, he saw that her brown hair had almost turned fully grey.

The sound of fire whirring and speeding past them on the other side of the door sounded. Metal on metal clanged, muffled orders being given.

"Stand." Ulfric grunted, attempted to aid her in doing so. Sottë refused to, instead attempting to retreat back into the coffin. The tattered robe that fell up her arm showed the deep wounds of incisions he had not counted on their previous night together.

"My lord." Ralof half-appeared through the door, breathing heavily. "These...necromancers that attacked are deposed, I'm unaware if there is more."  
>"There will be." Ulfric replied.<br>"Is she...?"  
>"No, she's still alive." Ulfric grunted. Begrudgingly, he lifted her from the coffin and into his arms. He could feel Ralof staring at her nearly completely greyed hair. She was trying to claw her way away from them, too, relentless in her confusion and desperation to escape.<p>

"Get a cart around. We need to get her to a physician immediately."  
>"Yes, sir." Ralof nodded, exiting quickly.<p> 


	18. Chapter 18

Screaming. The first thing Ulfric heard was screaming as it woke him. Years of being awoken as such had lead him to overcome disorientation and become somewhat focused in order to stave off death.

He sprang from his chair outside the door to the bedroom. The rather pale physician prevented him from entering the room. He had been tending to Sottë for more than three hours and had provided no good news.  
>"I-I'm sorry, my lord, but you cannot come in here. I still require space enough to tend to the girl."<p>

With that, he shut the door in his face. Ulfric gritted his teeth to quell the growing frustration within him.

"I told you she couldn't die." Heddvild was saying behind him. Quickly realizing he was still facing a closed door, Ulfric turned sharply to her. He remained silent as fell into his chair, avoiding saying something he would regret.

The grin faltered on her face as the screamings behind the door quickly resumed. They were shaking, like sobs now.

"I'm going in there." He said, allowing himself to force open the door. The physician would tend Sottë as best he could, that was certain. He dabbed at her sweating forehead even as she attempted to claw at him with her restrained arms. Her unbraided recently-white hair swung across her face, very much giving her the appearance of a woman gone mad.

The physician looked up at Ulfric as he entered.  
>"I do not think it is wise for you to be in here, my lord." The physician offered meekly, biting his lower lip.<p>

"Why would that be? Nonsense."  
>The physician chose his words carefully, clearly terrified by his presence. "I'm not sure if I fully understand this. She was found near necromancers, you say?"<br>"With them, yes." Ulfric grimaced. He was already furious that he had allowed it to happen, and did not wish to be reminded as such.  
>"Any symptom she's shown is usually associated with the mid-to-late stages of Sanguinare Vampiris."<p>

Ulfric stared at him, dumbfounded. "But you know how to cure it, of course."  
>"Er, well, actually I don't really..."<br>"There is some gap in your knowledge?"  
>"It's not that, my lord. Perhaps a prayer to Talos would-"<br>Ulfric crossed the room to him, seizing his shoulder to bring him crashing against the wall behind him.  
>"I'm sorry! I-"<br>"Is that supposed to be some kind of joke? Prayer? You are supposedly the most expensive physician gold can buy and you're useless to me? Get out of here."

Ulfric released him sharply. The physician quickly scrambled for the exit, as had been expected. Ulfric sighed, looking down at the girl who writhed against her wrist restraints. Her eyes were wild as they rolled from the back of her head, as if in constant horror of some maddening deed. The necessary restraints on her wrists left red marks on her wrists, reminding him of the day they met. Her eyes met his for a moment as they roved around the room. Her teeth bit at her lower lip in apparent anger at his presence, seething as she hissed. Ulfric placed himself in the chair at her bedside, anger still pulsing within him.

Heddvild entered, her shaking hands placing what he assumed to be a food-laden bowl on the table. She averted her eyes from the sight of her sister.  
>"You heard everything, I presume." Ulfric said. Heddvild nodded weakly.<br>"Yes," she replied. Her hand swept through her hair as she mulled her thoughts over. "I'm leaving now."  
>"Oh?" Ulfric breathed, shocked at her desertion.<br>"Leaving to visit someone in my village southwards. A good apothecary with some knowledge of mysticism. Surely that is relevant. I will leave at once if this will help her."

Ulfric nodded. He tried not to show the beginnings of hope within him.  
>"And I am to stay here."<br>Heddvild looked uneasy. "Yes. Unless Galmar says otherwise."  
>Ulfric resisted the urge to scoff at the girl. "Right."<p>

"Her hair." Heddvild shuddered. "She looks like an old woman."

He agreed silently. Heddvild placed herself next to her sister on the bed, bringing an confident hand to her forehead. Ulfric refrained from saying she did not suffer a common ailment that could be cured so easily. Sottë's eyes burned in her anger at the gesture, her head falling back in an attempt to escape the agony.

"Don't worry, sister. We'll get help for you." Heddvild soothed, standing and lifting her greatsword from a nearby chair.  
>"I'm unsure of the time we have left but...I'll be back as soon as is possible."<br>"I know," he nodded, turning to watch the snow fall outside the window. "Good luck."

**  
><em>Sottë felt the fever all around her before it hit her body. She could reach a hand to manipulate it, but not send it on its way. It was in her brain, intoxicating and seducing her in a way that sickened her. It would steal the air from her if it knew its worth. She dreamed of different things as it progressed.<em>

_Endless games of half-remembered tag from childhood as the sun set and parents called for bedtime rang throughout her ears, ringing in pain and longing for the forgotten past. Those she had murdered always leapt at her as they fell from her bloodied swords._

_A young girl, chosen to protect herself. Protect everyone. Remain alive. Afloat._

_Even her disease-addled brain knew it to be unfair, yet it still fought for its own selfish survival amongst those wishing her life to come to and end as quickly as possible. She would not allow them to restrain her further. Not for what she knew they had in mind._

_Then she was dead. She was happy it had finally arrived. She could see figures above her. She wondered if gods had come to claim her, despite her uselessness to their cause in life. Her darkened sight allowed no clue as some poison slipped down her throat, her body becoming a lifeless weight as she truly accepted death in its final silence._

* * *

><p>He hadn't slept since they had brought her back just over two days ago. Becoming rooted to the same seat without sleeping would not drive him insane, he promised himself that. He watched his fingers dig into the worn armrests.<p>

Heddvild had departed to her room with a simple "it's done" as she left, covering her face with her hand as she did so. Ulfric tried to work around the lump forming in his throat.

"Stormcloak." Viktor nodded as he placed himself on the chair opposite, hands shaking on his walking stick. He was the only one, except Sottë, to ever chance on using one of his names in addressing him. Many of the men did behind his back, he assumed. Viktor seemed a lot more composed in this first appearance after these past days. "Heddvild has informed me of everything that has happened."

Ulfric's first instinct told him that she had spoke of how attached to each other the Jarl and the Dragonborn had become. It was obvious that he and Sottë had grown too close, all of them knew it. None of them spoke of it.

"Thank you for everything for her." Viktor said shakingly, reaching out to grasp the man's hand in a gesture of thanksgiving. He retreated once more to the back of the house, walking stick tapping out a strong path ahead of him.

Ulfric was unsure of how long he waited for the sun to rise. He would die waiting, that he was sure of. Sovngarde would not want him in the amount of sitting and waiting he had allowed himself to participate in. Where was that revolutionary who stormed castles and killed kings? He sighed, rubbing his temple. Heddvild had advised him to wait until the sun was almost up until he visited her, or the potion would have little effect.

He watched the night roll past in such a painstakingly-slow manner. Waiting would be the death of him, he repeated in his mind, not a blade, revenge or fame.

Darkness still clung to the dilapidated home until the candles themselves burned out, one or two still low against the occasional rotted wood.

As soon as the sun rose he slipped into where she was being kept. She no longer fought out against her bindings, allowing her arms to rest. She allowed her raw wrists to rest as she slept, exhaustion etched on her face. Her hair, although not completely white anymore, still possessed the remnants of the dying greys. Her face was no longer wrinkled, yet smooth again, long lost to dreamless sleep.

Ulfric seated himself next to her, staring at the now-familiar face with an inward sigh of relief. It had pained him to even contemplate the thought of losing her permanently, that he admitted to himself. Hope for any rebellion succeeding had left him undoubtedly. He scolded himself for being so careless. For a moment, he had only cared for finding this girl who had pledged to marry him. It shamed him to admit it, but rebellion success had been a secondary, assured thing. Life could not be crushed for her easily, but this seemed almost easily done.

Ulfric mimicked Heddvild's prior gesture, reaching out to touch her now-cool forehead. He knew it would no longer be feverish, but the reestablishment of contact with her was needed. As soon as their skin met, her eyes fluttered open. Her eyes slowly inched around the room as she took in her surroundings. Confusion lit them at the squalid living conditions she was no longer used to. When her eyes met his, they lit with a familiarity in their exhaustion.

"I know where I am now."  
>She was no longerin the tattered black cloth the mages had put her in; Heddvild had changed her into one of her own nightgowns, it seemed. Her arms fell awkwardly limp to the front of her. She was almost unrecognizable to the lack of some circlet on her forehead. Her voice was cracked and dry from the fever.<p>

Ulfric allowed his hand to slip the side of her face, feeling its recognizable warmth. He attempted to smile at her to assure her that the illness was over.

"Welcome back." He said, voice low. She returned his smile momentarily.  
>She groaned as the sunlight hit her through the window at the head of her bed.<p>

"How do you feel?"  
>"Like the first time I ever drank Nord mead."<br>Sottë attempted to wipe at her forehead weakly before finding that her hands were bound in front of her. He saw her eyes fall to them.

"It was precaution of Galmar's. Understandable, really, when the Dragonborn's trying to claw your eyes out with her hands."

She smiled weakly at that, something that gestured she would laugh if her energy allowed it. He untied the restraints, hearing her hiss lightly as they fell.  
>"Thanks," she whispered, her eyes falling shut. He watched her, amazed in this small result. Sottë's eyes opened again as she squinted at him.<p>

"What?" He chuckled at her sudden accusing glare.  
>"You haven't mentioned anything."<br>"About what?"  
>"About getting married." Sottë said, still with narrowed eyes. Ulfric scoffed, suppressing a grin.<br>"It's hardly the time for that anymore."

"What if I still want to marry you?" Sottë asked, quirking an eyebrow. He hid his burgeoning hope in an expression of mock surprise.  
>"What if I want to know what happened with the necromancers first?"<br>"Then you will have to wait." Sottë grunted, hauling herself to sit up. The few remaining greys in her hair shone against the sun as she did so. "Because I am taking you to be married, sir."  
>"So demanding!" He tittered, rising from his chair to offer a hand to support her.<p>

"I mean it." She scowled up at him as she drew to her feet, hand still grasped in his a good foot below him. "Would you marry this limping Dragonborn now?"  
>He blinked down at her, a couple looking as if they may be about to waltz.<br>"Of course." He grinned fully down at her. She returned it, laughing at them and their behavior childishly.

"Perhaps let her change from her nightgown, first." She nudged him towards the door.  
>"Like I've never seen-"<br>"No comments, let me get ready!" She giggled uncharacteristically, laughing as she closed the door on him, trying to contain herself in order to keep the household from waking.

This was very much a new way of living to her.


	19. Chapter 19

Sottë eventually found Heddvild curled up on the floor, guarding the room Inna was contained in, still against the knowledge of their father.

"Heddvild. Heddvild, wake up," Sottë, trembling herself, shook the girl by the shoulder gently.  
>"Mmh? What is it?"<br>"Heddvild, sit up."

The girl did so, blinking at her older sister in the light. Sottë mentally searched for the words to articulate what was happening.

"You're awake. Where did your restraints go?" Heddvild murmured groggily. Sottë waved dismissively, excitement quickly flooding her once more.  
>"I'll explain when I get back."<br>"Get back?"

Sottë pursed her lips to refrain from the words becoming a garbled heap. She stopped when she noticed her sister edging away from her.  
>"You're not full-blown vampire, are you?" Heddvild asked warily. Sottë rolled her eyes.<br>"No," Sottë said. "I'm not. The Jarl has..."

She observed her sister's puzzled expression.  
>"...asked me to marry him." She finished. Sottë immediately shushed her on spotting her eyes light up. "But you cannot tell anyone this, not even father or Inna."<br>"This is a bit soon, do you not think so, sister? So soon after your illness and getting father and Inna back, too."  
>"This is why you cannot tell anyone. I'll return before Solitude, of course. This is something that I have to do."<p>

Sottë grinned down at her bleary-eyed sister, unable to contain herself. Heddvild smiled, hugging her crouching sister.  
>"I won't. Good luck, sister. See you on the other side."<p>

Heddvild felt herself being awakened. Everything with Sottë must have been a dream, she realized, her heart falling. Was she dead? Was she alive and still bitter?

* * *

><p>"Heddvild! Sottë is gone!"<br>"Mmh?" Heddvild sat up. "Oh, father. No, she's just gone to...scout as near Solitude as can be allowed with some of the men. They'll be back in a few days."  
>She tried not to squirm under his gaze.<p>

"I have daughters. I know when someone is lying by now."  
>She refrained from mentioning his absence in their younger years.<br>"Alright, but it cannot leave us two, father."  
>"I'm listening."<br>"The Jarl and Sottë have grown close I have told you?" Heddvild said, watching her father nod. Her throat was suddenly very dry. "She accepted his proposal this time."

Viktor's face did not light up with emotion as she had expected. "I beg your pardon?"  
>Heddvild then felt very guilty. "When I said they were close, father..."<br>"Oh!" Viktor breathed. "Oh."  
>"You're not mad, are you?" Heddvild grasped the man's hand that did not rest on his walking stick.<p>

He turned to her with a mock-scathing look. "No, you silly child. I have eyes, you know."

* * *

><p>"By the Nine!" He heard her yell.<p>

Ulfric cast a glance about them under the grey hood of their cloaks, grateful for the changing of the guard most likely taking place inside the walls of Riften. The northern wall of Riften was plastered in the same two or three posters repeated, an unusual sight for the town.

"What is it?" Ulfric asked, worry rising in him.  
>"This," Sottë brandished one of the posters at him. Her hood had fallen down from her head, revealing her blushing cheeks. He took the most repeated poster, its image not registering immediately. When it did, Ulfric allowed himself a hearty laugh. Sottë only blushed more furiously.<p>

"A d_ragon breathes fire_," she read, lips falling open in a gasp. "_And fights the Empire_."

The artist of the poster had captured her in the dragon-like ballgown she had begrudgingly wore to the ball only weeks prior. Instead of looking nervous and self-conscious, Sottë appeared to revel in her dragon-like appearance with an overly mischievous expression, the whir of fire lighting up her winking eyes above a wild grin. A dainty-looking foot slipped out from the dress' slit and rested on the corpse of a rather well-groomed Imperial Army soldier, one of her swords resting on the back of the same leg. The other sword shone in her hand, reflecting fire that was not there. Her hair swung behind her in a fashion that was too long to be her own hair, the golden circlet's garnet resting perfectly above her own eyes.

"That is fantastic," Ulfric breathed, laughter still coursing through him.  
>"It is not!" Sottë gasped.<br>"You have to admire the artist's talent, really."  
>Sottë scowled at him, huffing as she pulled her hood back up. "<em>A dragon breathes fire and fights the Empire<em>? More appropriately it would be a _dragon breathes fire and only narrowly avoids becoming a vampire_."

Ulfric stifled his laughter as he followed her example of pulling up his hood and keeping his head down as they silently made their way to the Temple of Mara.

"Do you know how this will be working?"  
>"Don't worry, I have a man on the inside." Sottë whispered, grinning. Despite the majority of guards being Stormcloaks, it was still wise for them to keep their heads down. They took the back alleys Sottë was familiar with from her past as a thief.<p>

She motioned for him to pause as a hooded figure passed ahead of the alley. Sottë quickly wrenched the figure into the alley, trying not to terrify the man. The end result was her pushing him rather heavily against the wall before releasing him, the man's eyes already wide in terror.

"Hello, Maramal." Sottë sang, her smile genuine.  
>The priest relaxed markedly. "Oh, Mistress Andrel. You frightened me."<br>"Sorry about that," she slapped him on the shoulder in an odd sort of apology. "But I need a favor."

"Oh, er, yes. What can I do for you?" He was beginning to eye Ulfric with some suspicion.  
>"Well, you are a priest of Mara..." Sottë began. Maramal nodded, waiting for the end of her sentence patiently.<p>

"Oh! I see. Excellent!" Maramal beamed at them, looking from one to the other quickly. "Come with me to the temple and I shall see what Mara can do."

Sottë stole a glance at Ulfric, relieved to see the restrained amusement on his face. The two of them followed the priest, occasionally being so brave as to chance glances around the streets or even at each other.

"I suppose you saw the, er, artwork of yourself, Mistress Andrel?" Maramal cast over his shoulder.  
>Sottë scowled at him as they entered the temple. "Yes, I did."<br>"Not in the best of tastes, in truth." Maramal sighed. "I suppose...it is good for morale."

Sottë could almost feel the suppressed laughter from Ulfric. Maramal busied himself with checking the temple's logbook.  
>"Return at dawn tomorrow-"<br>"It's dawn now." Sottë interjected. Maramal looked up and squinted out the window.  
>"It is." He said. "Well, if you're that eager..."<br>"Oh, yes." Sottë grinned, stealing a sideway glance at the Jarl next to her.  
>"Come along, then."<p>

The temple was near deserted due to the early time of the day. Newly-lit candles burned on the altar under the icon of Mara, flowers dotted throughout the room to ease the nerves of terrified couples.

"It was Mara that first gave birth..."

Ulfric allowed himself to disengage from the procedural words of the priest to gaze at his bride. Of all the women that had come and gone from his life, a life shrouded in war, conflict and resentment, this one woman was something particularly new.

He was a fool, that he acknowledged well, applauding himself on it almost. That love he had for her, had always had for her, was so present to him as he stared at her that he knew he could not escape from it or live without at least submitting to it. Sottë's face was lit by determination as she soaked in the words of the priest. She nodded every so often at his words, such a simple motion in showing that she respected those around her. When had he become so passed his old self, so set in bitterness and indifference towards death, at the hands of the enemy or otherwise?

"Do you agree to be bound in together, in love, now and forever?"  
>Ulfric snapped back into himself, hoping that his expression had not been one too unrestrained and unprofessional. She extended a hand to him before she answered, one that he gratefully received. She brought herself nearer to him, closing the formal gap between them.<p>

"I do, now and forever." Sottë said, her words barely managed. This made him smile as he repeated her words after the same question.

"Under the authority of Mara, the Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed."  
>He had not expected her to kiss him, it was not standard procedure in weddings. In virtuous couples, such a first kiss would be scandalous. But that, he supposed, was irrelevant.<p>

Maramal's eyebrows were rather high, giving Sottë the impression he recognized her husband. That felt odd for her to think, and she reveled in repeating such a concept in her mind until the word sounded odd on her tongue.

"I present you two with matching rings, blessed by Mara's divine grace. May they protect each of you in your new life together."  
>"Thank you," Ulfric said, accepting the rings graciously. "But I think we may have mastered protecting each other, already."<p>

Maramal smiled at them, nodding to show the end of the service.  
>"I'll race you outside, husband." Sottë laughed, releasing his hand momentarily to race outside. He gave an exasperated look at Maramal before following her.<p>

"Congratulations on your wedding!" An elderly attendant had shuffled past with an offering of flowers to Mara, winking at them as they passed. "It's a good day for Skyrim."  
>Sottë turned to give him a shocked look as they exited, checking the coast was clear before throwing her arms around the man's neck and pulling him in for a long-awaited kiss, one he gladly reciprocated.<p> 


	20. Chapter 20

The blank sky overhead was threatening to burst with lazy snow as they made their way back to the small shack outside Windhelm. Cold morning air lit their lungs, the evidence expelling in puffs in front of their face.

"Excuse me," she nudged him out of the way of the door as they slipped into the house. The expression on her face was one of joviality, a rarity in these past months and weeks. She shushed him as he brought the door to a close.

Sottë had passed into the room she had been incapacitated in for those hazy days. She carefully lifted the circlet from her head and placed it on the desk. She turned to grin at him, and before she knew it they were about each other again. His height becoming a difficulty in such impulsive kisses would be a difficulty she could become accustomed to.

"I can't believe those bastards almost got me." She eventually panted, feeling the comforting warmth of his forehead on hers.  
>"They didn't. That's all that matters." Ulfric replied. He tried to gauge her mental state in its presentation on her face and in her eyes.<br>"I can't believe I was almost...a monster like that. Bloody disgusting, blasted creatures."  
>"They were necromancers, Sottë. They're not specimens of morality." He jibed. "And you still haven't told me of how-"<p>

She pressed her lips to his again, silencing his questions. All impulses, he returned the kiss, allowing himself to submit to the heady sensation of it all.

"Don't," she pleaded, slipping her arms back to her sides. "Don't start asking me about that now. Please."  
>He opened his mouth to question her, knowing himself a fool when he tried to draw nearer to her. She kissed him lightly on the cheek in a chaste manner.<br>"So we no longer mention this and us until after the war?" He asked, his voice low.  
>"No," Sottë sighed, her eyes closing as she felt him return the soft kiss. "No we don't."<p>

Sottë disentangled herself from him in an agonizingly slow manner, trying to seem as if she inspected the books on the shelf. Ulfric sighed; he knew she didn't wish to discuss it at that. She shook her head mockingly, selecting a dusty old tome and allowing it to fall open.

"Look at this," Sottë said, nodding towards the open page. Ulfric advanced, seeing a detailed, thoroughly-annotated and dog-eared map of Solitude. "It may help to begin looking at it."

He silently turned the book from his wife, furrowing his brow at the map.  
>"I'll wake the household," Sottë breezed passed him and out the door. They had agreed upon not telling anyone of their new marriage until after Solitude was conquered and that underlying threat of death was dimmed momentarily. He inwardly admitted that it would be a difficult feat to restrain themselves, the newlywed couple that they were.<p>

Ulfric kept his eyes focused on the map that he had grown accustomed to doing such in these past few months. He knew all possible escape routes around, through and under the city. Tullius' daily schedule was becoming a second nature to affirm in the practice of his own daily life. He extinguished a forgotten candle from the night as the morning light lit the words on the page.

Sottë slipped off her boots and traveling cloak silently as she entered the room Inna was being held in. The girl looked positively wild to her now. Even though she still wore her leather Imperial Army armor, she had pulled her knees under chin and had allowed herself to become slumped over them. From her breathing, Sottë knew she was not asleep.

"Sister," Sottë whispered, crouching in front of her. Inna remained silent, unmoving. "It's been an eventual few days. I am unsure if you fully comprehend their nature and why-"  
>"I'm no fool," Inna spat, raising her head sharply.<p>

Sottë fell backwards onto her backside in her lack of anticipation at her sister's reaction. She recovered well, attempting to mirror her relatively informal sitting position awkwardly. Inna shifted her face back to her knees.

"So, you have experience with being kidnapped by necromancers, having your estranged sister dissected and turned half-dead into some monster? Not to mention escaping a similar fate yourself? I don't think I can ever remember a time when you-"

She stopped abruptly when Inna lifted her face again. This time, she was crying. Her face was bleary with tears and exhaustion. It seemed she had not given into sleep often out of fear of seeming disloyal to the Imperials.  
>"I only wanted to be able to stand on my own two feet for once." She kneaded at her forehead. Sottë realized how young the girl was. "I thought I joined a cause that was righteous and good in its aims. I'd heard word of you in the Stormcloaks but when I found Heddvild to be here, too. Now to hear that father, after all this time?"<p>

Sottë watched as her tears melded on her face. She slipped an arm around Inna's shoulder and rubbed her back soothingly, much like she had when she was a young girl and would come home with the smallest of injuries.

"It's just all the death, Sottë." Heddvild shuddered. "How do they all withstand it all? I thought I could make it calm down a bit if I joined the Imperial Army but they just seem to want to kill us regardless."

"You can still make it right, Inna." Sottë said. "Join us and it won't be too late."  
>"Is it really that simple, though?" Inna sniffed in an unladylike manner.<br>"It can be, if you let it."

"And I can help people?"  
>"Yes." Sottë smiled. "You'll be helping your big sister greatly, to start."<p>

Inna nodded, reaching up to meet her older sister in an odd equivalent of a hug.

* * *

><p>"Will you speak?"<p>

Sottë snapped out of her reverie. She had been content in watching Ulfric and Galmar speak, never really having utilized her position within the faction to be a speaker amongst them. Ulfric addressed her now, betraying no possible love he had for her to any other watching.

At all prior battles she had not made herself seem superior to those she fought with, even when Ulfric had been captured at Hraggstad. Galmar had been obviously anxious at Ulfric's presence at the battle. This being their last push for Solitude and Tullius would be some comfort to him, Sottë mused.

She nodded, passing from the middle of their large crowd to the front. Her palms started to sweat. Sottë had not realized how many of them there was, all looking to her for some inspiring words expectantly. She could face dragons, armies and had become rather well-known as a thief before joining the Stormcloaks, yet this terrified her. She accused herself mentally of becoming soft.

She feared a lot of them looked to her merely for the next tidbit of gossip, but she tried to ignore the voice in the back of her head that told her as such.  
>"We are all past introductions," she let her indifferent gaze sweep over some of the familiar members of their faction as she paced. Ralof. Edda. Heddvild. She even saw Inna, newly decked out (if somewhat tentatively) in Stormcloak armor. "You all know who I am by now; some by reputation, and others, by heart."<p>

"I only speak now, in this instance, to assure you that this is the last push to bring us closer towards what Skyrim will ever, after the Empire, truly know as peace. Fractured that may be, as we hold onto it, it cannot vanish in our faces."  
>"You all know by now that I was to be beheaded before some of the men you see amongst you today, that much is common gossip. I cannot say I am completely free of guilt and have never wronged against myself or others, but if it were not for those men I would surely be dead regardless of my crimes."<br>"Let it be known that a Stormcloak does not fight out of hatred or superiority, but out of desperation to keep their family alive. To ensure that they do not have to worry about how or when their family is taken from them, or worry of when their friends never return to them."  
>She came to a halt in front of them, squaring her shoulders in her newfound courage. "The Jarl you see next to me is as if of my own kin, and if you will fight with him in this, you are all my own flesh and blood."<p>

Sottë could feel the emotion pumping through her dragon's blood that was preparing her for the brawl that was to ensue; she prayed her words had the same effect on them.  
>"We take the fight to them, then. To those who won't allow such notions of family and peace. To Tullius and his men sitting in that tower above us."<p>

She turned to position herself more to the side, feeling the tumultuous roar that hit her back as it sounded. She saw the relatively smug expression on her Jarl's face before she turned back to the crowd.


	21. Chapter 21

_Three years prior..._

Sottë edged cautiously around the corner of the decrepit building, the stale air of the dank home hitting her nostrils abruptly. She would never become accustomed to this damp home, regardless of how many times she visited.

"Andrel!" A familiar voice sounded in the near-darkness. Her contact, an argonian, sat in one of the musty armchairs, as per usual. Someone unfamiliar was perched across from him, clad in robes and a strange mask. She allowed her eyes to sweep over the odd figure before returning to the familiar man.  
>"Utadee. What have you got for me?"<p>

The argonian sat up in his chair, surveying her closely.  
>"You are 17 summers old now, no?" He asked. Sottë squinted at him in the dim light.<br>"Yes, and?"  
>"How is your mother, she is well? I saw her at the market yesterday but I forg-"<br>"Utadee, do you have anything for me or do I have to find a new fence?"

Utadee looked about the room quickly, before pointing shakily to his masked contact.  
>"Meet Ashardon, a respected magister and conjurer from the College."<br>"A necromancer, you mean?" Sottë chuckled, nodding at the man. Utadee shook his head in a noncommittal manner that confirmed her guess.

"Right." Sottë said, beginning to turn on her heel. "Well, thanks anyway U-"  
>"Wait." The robed magister calmly lowered his hood and removed his mask, displaying the unmistakable features of a Breton. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, one cautious in a primal sense. "I have a business proposal, of sorts, for you, Mistress Andrel."<br>Sottë narrowed her eyes at the mage. His newly revealed face showed him to be of narrow features and dark eyes and greasy, dark hair. "And that would happen to be?"  
>"Have you ever heard of the legend of the <em>dovahkiin<em>, Mistress Andrel?"

Sottë watched him stand, a good few heads above her.  
>"Of course. Everyone knows the stories about dragons, breathing fire and the like. They're children's bed time stories, nothing more." Sottë replied smartly, allowing her eyes to drift around the room.<br>"Ah, but are they?" He asked in an eccentric and lofty tone, peering down at her with his dark, small eyes. "There's a legend within mage-folk that the bones of the _dovahkiin_ hold the key to extraordinary fables in regards to life and its tenure; immortality or even ascension to godhood. But it is said to be a dangerous thing, to incapacitate or kill a dovahkiin, you see. Only a special material can properly pierce for long enough and in the appropriate areas without causing irreparable damage to the figure."

"Do you speak of damage to the bone or to the person you maim?" Sottë asked impulsively, bringing her gaze to peer into his unwelcoming eyes.  
>"It is a dangerous thing, to face a <em>dovahkiin<em>, you understand," he swept past her, coming to a halt behind her as he left her question unanswered and ignored. "One melded of dragon and human is obviously no easy foe in battle."  
>"Well, that's very interesting," Sottë snapped, turning to face the mage. "But, I assume you want me to steal this blade material or whatever it is?"<p>

She could feel Utadee's eyes shifting from one to the other as the conversed. He had stepped back when Ashardon had closed in on Sottë.

"Hmm, not exactly. I have _other _ways." Ashardon breathed. His gaze was uncomfortable, as if he knew every lie she had ever told and every unclean thought she had ever had.

She felt herself inhale sharply when his gloved hand came softly into contact with her right hip. Her instincts acted for her, reaching a hand to throw the man's hand off of her swiftly. It only came searching again, grasping tightly onto her right forearm. His wild expression frightened her, something she prayed she did not show. Sottë threw the hand off again, this time with more force. She brought her right arm back to punch the man square in the face to ensure it did not happen again. Ashardon doubled over, pressing a hand to the new emergence of blood there.

"No, thank you," Sottë panted, rolling her newly-aching right shoulder. She nodded at Utadee, who was trying to form words soundlessly, as she left, trying not to dwell on the strange encounter as she wound her way back home.

* * *

><p>They had entered at the front of the men, large in amount as they were. Sottë felt odd at the front of it all, only realizing now that more than a year and a half had passed since her attempted execution at Helgen.<p>

It was not as deserted as Whiterun had been, with men already being led down the castle stairs towards them. Sottë unsheathed her swords, turning to see Heddvild lift the mighty greatsword from her back. She nodded swiftly at her older sister.

Due to the sheer number of them, it felt more of a march to the castle than a fight to its gates. Gaining entrance to the main hall of the castle was no difficult feat. Only the three of them entered, leaving the rest of them to finish the remaining soldiers and any that further appeared.

"Secure the door." Ulfric ordered at the front.  
>"Ulfric. Stop."<p>

Sottë looked up from her drawn swords at the woman. She knew the confusion showed on her face. Galmar had no look of confusion about him, she noted. This was some part of the story she had not been let in on, surely. Ulfric had sheathed his sword to talk to her, Galmar following suit. Sottë did not relent, still poised for battle.

"Stop what? Taking Skyrim back from those who would leave her to rot?"  
>"You're a damn fool. We need the Empire, without it Skyrim would surely fall to the Dominion."<br>"Stand aside, woman." Galmar barked. "We're here to see the General."  
>"Rikke, go." Ulfric said. Sottë turned her head to look at him.<br>"This is what you wanted?" Rikke began to yell, folding her arms decisively. "Shield brothers and sisters killing each other? Families torn apart?"

"We're here to see Tullius. This wastes our time." Sottë spoke. Only Galmar looked to her.  
>"You've left me no choice. Talos preserve us." Rikke began to withdraw her sword.<p>

Sottë shielded them against the brunt of her initial attack as the two men fumbled for their swords. They were powerful strikes, causing her arms to tremble slightly after each impact. The fight was bloody, one desperate in its last ditch attempts at finishing each side's aims. It was only when she fell that Sottë noticed Tullius, cowering on the other side of the room.

"Enough...enough." Tullius muttered from the floor. Sottë marched up to the man, sheathing her swords against her better judgment.  
>"This is him, the great general who commanded thousands of men and cowers on the floor in the face of confrontation." Sottë stated, crouching by the cowering figure as her face twisted up in anger. "Somehow not so courageous when he's on the other end of the chopping block."<p>

"Stormblade," Ulfric called, watching her seeth with anger. "Sottë."  
>She looked up blankly, as if only momentarily incensed.<p>

Ulfric turned to Tullius. "This is it for you. Any last words before I send you to Oblivion?"  
>Sottë drew herself to her full height.<br>"You realize this is exactly what they wanted." Tullius said, eyes wandering up to peer up at Sottë. She glared back, scoffing at his words. Ulfric shot her a look that advised she calm down.

"The Thalmor wanted this. They stirred up trouble here. Forced us to divert needed resources and throw away good soldiers quelling this rebellion."  
>"It's a little more than a rebellion now, don't you think?" Sottë barked, hands automatically withdrawing her swords for a final time.<p>

"We aren't the bad guys in this, you know." Tullius said, peering up at her again. Sottë scoffed again, unable to refrain from doing so.  
>"Maybe not, but you certainly aren't the good guys." Ulfric said.<br>"Certainly not, but then what does that make you?"  
>"I think you just answered your own question, <em>General<em>." Sottë spat, the last word a bitter parody of its true meaning.  
>"And if I surrender?" He asked, more to Sottë than anyone else.<br>"The Empire is dead. And so are you." Galmar growled, hands twitching to his own weapon as he did so. "Just kill him and let's be done with it already."

"Come, Galmar. Where's your sense of the dramatic moment?" Ulfric chuckled. His demeanor still confused her at both the best and worst of times. She brought her eyes up quickly from the man on the floor to the Jarl.  
>"Me?" She realized how unprofessional it sounded in comparison.<br>"What do you say, Dragonborn?" Ulfric asked, grinning as if about to reveal the punchline of a joke. "Do you want the honor?"  
>"I-" She suddenly felt very young, despite her twenty summers of age.<p>

At threatening moments one's mind wanders to the most unlikely places. Sottë thought of when she was first loaded into the cart to Helgen, the first to be there. She hadn't recognized the Stormcloaks or even Jarl Ulfric as they had filed into the cart after her. She had felt their eyes on her as she had drifted in and out of consciousness. The thin clothes and the dank cell had been beginning to grate on her, really. As she brought herself back to the present, she realized how insignificant her thoughts had been before death, ones of hygiene and clothing.

"I'll do it."  
>Ulfric nodded, grin now faded from his face and into seriousness. "Here, use my sword to do it. This moment will be immortalized in song. Make it a good kill."<p>

The death was simple, not of Shouts and the Voice, but of a blade ending the man's life and sending him to death in an unceremonious manner.  
>"Talos guide you." Ulfric muttered.<br>"I'll go and rally the men." Galmar said, dotting from the castle. They stood there in silence after he left, staring at one another. Cheers sounded outside eventually.

"We've done it." Sottë whispered. The magnitude of it all hit her as gazed down at the dwarven sword and wiped the blood from her face.  
>"Yes." He replied simply. Her hands, she noticed, were covered in blood and wiping at her face did not aid in cleansing it.<br>"Here," Ulfric offered, reaching out a tentative hand to swipe away the blood. After doing so, it fell to cup her cheek. He stared down at her for longer than usual.  
>"Are you not going to kiss me, then?" She chuckled, shaking her head in the minor space that she possessed.<br>"I would, but you're covered in blood."

She swatted him away playfully. "I can't be that bad."  
>Silence fell between them. "What happens now?"<br>"A speech. The men will be expecting a speech."  
>Sottë nodded curtly, her own grin flitting to her face as she linked an arm in his. A weight had been lifted from her shoulders from it all, but she knew it was not a permanent sensation.<br>"How about a joint speech with your wife?" Sottë offered. Ulfric shrugged, drawing her into his arms.

"I want you to keep the sword you used to end Tullius as a token of my appreciation." He said.  
>"Appreciation?" She laughed into his chest. "Of what?"<br>"Everything." He said, drawing away from her to gaze down at her. Sottë squeezed his hand gently.  
>"You don't have to thank me. Never thank me."<p>

He beamed at her again, laughing as he did so. "Will you speak with me, then?"  
>"As a wife or as a warrior?"<br>"Both." Ulfric said, squeezing her hand in return. "I wish to honor you, Dragonborn, and the truest of Stormcloaks."  
>"Very well. Come, the people await us." Sottë smiled, pulling him towards the door.<p>

They opened the door together, with the light of the closed-off day hitting them once more.

* * *

><p><em>AN: That's nearly all, folks! I'm not going to say goodbye yet because there will be one more chapter (an epilogue) of _Burnt Circlet _to tie up some loose ends (especially with the necromancy). I'll give my thanks then and list my acknowledgements to certain reviewers. Thank you if you've read from the start and see you in the epilogue!_


	22. Epilogue: Chapter 22

Sottë slammed down the flagon as soon she finished draining it, a grimace showing on her uninhibited face.

"You boys don't do things by halves," she panted, attempting to wipe at any of the mead that may have spilled onto her face. A half-hearted cheer sounded from the few soldiers still conscious. The head of the man she had been drinking with rested in a pool of mead and his own drool on the table across for her.

She had willed the night to come all through the day; the stuffy, formal clothes she was now expected to wear in court all day were uncomfortable, and none of the men would object to her stripping down to her translucent underdress in their inebriated states. She hated holding court. Sottë never had expected to miss the danger of the war, even if she could not rightly say she did.

Since the stalwart reconstruction of the Palace two months ago, the kitchens at night had been the gathering place for some of the men who drank after the others had gone to bed. Down in the kitchens was the only place that seemed like home to her. Upstairs was all lighter colors, not as endearingly surly as they had once been. Yet the same could be said for her husband, she had mused.

Cards and women were wildly-discussed topics, yet somewhat restrained at the presence of the Lady Sottë. Yet it could not be said that this remained as they drunk further to the depths of their respective flagons.

She grinned after she drained a bottle that rattled on the cobbled stone floor, clutching it in triumph. Sottë watched their faces slacken and darken in what would be a comedic manner if she were sober. She drew to her feet to see what they gawped at, the cold of the stone meeting her bare feet.

_Ah, crap_, Sottë thought through the haze in her head.  
>"Hello, husband." She tried to fix a casual grin to her face. "Care for a drink? You look like you could use a drink. Drink?"<p>

She offered the empty bottle to him. Ulfric scowled at her.  
>"What do you think you're doing?" He said calmly, crossing his arms across his chest. Sottë shrugged deeply.<br>"Celebrating," Sottë laughed, pulling his right arm to her and placing the empty bottle in it. He immediately placed it on the table as she twisted his hand into her grasp. Ulfric sighed.  
>"What happened to your clothes?"<br>Sottë shrugged again, eyes wide. "A wizard did it."

He began to remove his outer robe and wrapped her in it. She didn't seem to notice, instead busying herself with attempting to seize another bottle from the table. After he had maneuvered her out of the way, she returned to gazing up at him.

"Let's go upstairs." Sottë giggled.  
>"Yes, let's." Ulfric sighed dryly. Upstairs to pass out and awake tomorrow with a sore head a bad thirst, he would wager. He allowed her to pull him up the newly-constructed stairs regardless. This, he feared, was becoming too much of an occurrence as of late.<p>

She pulled him towards her as soon as they were in their room, fiercely attempting to echo any sort of newlywed relation. Ulfric detached her hands from him, holding them in front of her.  
>"You must stop doing this," he muttered. "Your title requires you to act with some decorum."<br>Sottë mistook this as some tease, attempting to smile coquettishly. He mentally labeled himself a fool as he backed her onto their bed, letting her fall down onto it.

"There. Try and sleep it off." Ulfric sighed again. Sottë flopped onto her back, her brown hair spread out around her and her state of undress giving her the look of a madwoman.  
>"You're not coming to bed?" Sottë grunted, attempting to sit up. She failed in this, falling to her back. Ulfric hesitated before placing himself on the bed next to her.<br>"I hadn't intended to yet-"  
>Before he had chance to finish his sentence or realize her intentions, she had whirled from her place next to him to be on top of him, forcing him down until he was on his back. Sottë pinned him down with her well-toned legs. By the Nine, she would be the death of him. A slow and painful death, to be sure. He reciprocated her wild kiss at first for the heady sensation of it, feeling her cold hands find their way to the nape of his neck. His own hands roved their way to her hips, branding himself a fool mentally. Sottë had already managed to worm her way out of the outer robe he had cloaked her in moments earlier, the thin, revealing fabric of her underdress being all that obstructed them.<p>

Ulfric shifted to be above her, hands roaming from her hips to her bare shoulders and the ties at the front of her underdress. She still trembled beneath him, trying to retain some dominance in her grasp at his neck. He paused, realizing the level of her drunken state when her kisses wavered in their accuracy.

Ulfric broke from her, unable to move from her tight grip on him.  
>"I'm so glad I'm your wife," she panted, resting her forehead against his. He smiled, bringing himself to his feet above her. She groaned as he did so, pouting bitterly up at him from the bed. The hand of his she still grasped was still firm in its grasp. Sottë could only manage to remain upright for a short few seconds, quickly flopping onto her back.<p>

Ulfric brought his lips to kiss her hand tenderly before letting it fall to her now unconscious form.  
>"Sorry about that, <em>dovahkiin<em>," he chuckled, sliding her sleeping form fully onto the bed as he left and closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Sottë groaned as light seeped into her heavy head. She had no idea where she was, what time of the day it was, how she had gotten to her bed or where her husband was. The dull thud in her head powered on as she dressed herself afresh in a peach dress of modest length. Her reflection looked drab and exhausted, pale and fading in the plush colors of the best bedroom in the Palace.<p>

She passed Heddvild, who raised her eyebrows dramatically and shook her head at her older sister, whittling in her armor in a living space on the second floor. Sottë thanked the gods that her father lived outside Windhelm and did not visit as often as Heddvild and Inna.

"'Morning." Ulfric said as she entered the study. She grimaced as she nodded at him, pulling the heavy door to a close behind her. The room was of dark greens and, thankfully, not all windows had their drapes pulled aside. Sottë gingerly placed herself on the pillowed bench nearest to the desk at which he wrote in a leather-bound book.  
>"So it is morning, then?"<br>"For all you know, yes." He chuckled, turning to look at her from his book. "Your confusion's not surprising after your performance last night."

Sottë groaned as images of the night before flooded back to her. Gambling, drinking mead that had make her stomach swirl (at first) and coming on quite strong towards her rather sober husband.

"I'm sorry," she groaned, her hand kneading at her forehead.  
>"I wondered why you had decided it wise to remove most of your clothing," Ulfric laughed, crossing to the room to place the book back on the shelf. He seated himself next to the wincing woman. "But then I remembered who would do such a thing and it soon became clear."<br>"I was really that bad, wasn't I?" Sottë half-laughed.

"You were awful," he said, voice growing low. "But you could have bothered me in a worse way."  
>A laugh escaped her as she felt his arm wind around her shoulders, her laughter echoing off the stone walls. "I'll have to make sure I do that again, then."<br>"Why do you do it to yourself?" Ulfric asked, seriousness to his tone. "To escape the new Palace to drink every night?"  
>"No! No, of course not." She turned in his arms, grasping at the outerrobe she remembered him swathing her in the night before. "I'd rather not talk about it now."<p>

"So how drunk was I, exactly?" Sottë spoke after a few moments of serious silence. "I haven't managed to drink Folmer under the table yet."  
>"Judging from how Folmer was lying in a puddle of his own drool last night, I'd guess you finally managed it."<br>"Ah, fantastic." Sottë laughed, her lips nearing his. "I'll be sure to send him a gift."  
>Ulfric only managed a short <em>hmm <em>of agreement before she kissed him. It quickly grew in its heat and intensity, Sottë only resuming her (if more accurate) kisses as she forced him downwards on the bench.

He silently edged the shoulders of her dress down, exposing the pale flesh there. He busied himself with applying rough kisses there, pleasure shooting through him at hearing her gasp.  
>"Should we move?" Ulfric said between kisses.<br>"No time," Sottë breathed, running her hands along his outerrobe before sliding it down.  
>"This is a new-" He began to chuckle, cut off by a groan and her resuming of their kiss.<p>

Ulfric gently removed her mother's circlet from her head and placed it on the desk. He changed their position to be above her, his hands roaming from her hips to the sides and curves of her breasts. He busied himself with working at the ties on the front of her dress.

Just as he untied the damned things, a heavy knock on the door sounded. Sottë groaned as she instantly rose to her feet, smoothing out the creases in her dress and the mess of her hair. She quickly placed the circlet on her head. Ulfric sat up, correcting his clothing in turn.

"Honestly, all I want is a few moments of peace with my husband..." she muttered angrily under her breath as she crossed to the door, opening it to a terrified-looking courier.

"Er, message for you, my lady." He handed her a thick parcel before exiting swiftly. Ulfric watched her untie the thing, reading the long letter. When she had finished, she brought her hand to her shocked face.  
>"What is it?" He crossed the room to his wife, who leaned a hand to the wall to support herself.<br>"You remember I told you of Ashardon, the necromancer who I suspected of kidnapping and trying to...dissect Inna and I?"

Ulfric nodded. How could he ever forget? He had been the one to discover her, infected with Sanguinare Vampiris and laid out in some crude coffin.  
>"He's in town." Sottë swept her shaking hand from her mouth to her forehead, holding the letter out to him with the other hand.<br>"Then we go to him." He said after finishing reading the letter.  
>"Exactly what I thought." Sottë nodded. "And this time we don't go looking to compromise."<br>"When is that ever us?" Ulfric laughed, tossing her a sword from one of the weapons racks dotted across the Palace.  
>Sottë smiled wanly, kissing her husband on the cheek before leaving with him to change into her more familiar and strangely more comfortable armor.<p>

As the two wound through the halls of the new Palace to the armory, a newly-employed Dark Elf serving girl hummed a half-remembered simple song that had echoed throughout Windhelm and her bards for months.

_When the Jarl married his thane,  
>a girl we ne'er deemed plain,<br>a dragon of the Ancients and  
>one with the skies.<br>When the dragon married her king._

* * *

><p><em>AN: And so it concludes! I'm rather sad to let this one end, I loved writing it, but there's a time for everything to come to a close when you begin to love writing the blasted thing so much. I'd love to write a one-shot to tie things up, let me know if you guys think that's not a totally crappy idea._

_A special thanks for all my story alerts, favourites, author alerts and reviews! Here's to the reviewers:_

**The Dragonborns; used their Voice powerfully and with effect (reviewed more than once)**  
><em>Mizpinkypu (thank you for being especially stalwart, kind and enduring in your reviews)<br>THEJN  
>ccisawesome99<br>Coco  
>Ahrro<br>Purple Biscuit  
>R h i a n d u r<br>Rachel11205 _  
><strong><br>The Ulfrics; used their Voice once rather famously (reviewed once)**  
><em>person-over-9000<br>athos-aramis  
>slyfoxxy<br>lightan117  
>empireandall<br>Lady Urquentha  
>alathia<br>BrokenShadowBreeze  
>kalina564<em>

_Thank you._


	23. Deserters

_A/N: I'm ba-ack! I was re-reading some chapters of _BC _and I decided I hadn't really tied up a lot, and I still had a lot of ways I wished to explore the Sottë/Ulfric relationship. I'll be posting another chapter if you guys like this, and I'll be posting it on the end of the old story so the former readers of _BC _can all see it. I wasn't going to so I could have an individual summary, but this is way is easier for us all, haha._

**Deserters**  
><strong>Summary<strong>  
><em>New conflicts between the Dragonborn and Ulfric Stormcloak emerge after the civil war's end that brings her to question their marriage. What if they did rush into things? Love and duty are closely-related contrasts. Exile and execution are favorable torments.<em> Rated: T.

* * *

><p>"Deserters." Ulfric jabbed a finger at the map the two of them gazed down at.<br>"Deserters?" Sottë repeated, gazing down in wonder at the worn map. He nodded solemnly.  
>"Yes, last stationed at Haafingar camp, the two have not reported for active duty for near a month. The two known to have disappeared are Lindberg and Berglund, but they are most likely leaders to a larger group of rebellion. They will likely travel eastwards to seek-"<p>

"And the point of knowing this is...?" Sottë remarked, gazing across the map at her husband with a puzzled expression.  
>"To put an end to rebellion." He stated, saying it slowly as if she struggled to understand.<br>"Perhaps they desert as a means to leave the cause. It makes sense with the end of the civil war, and I seem to remember you attempted and managed to retain me when I wished to leave."  
>Ulfric laughed at that. "That was different. You cannot look at this situation with such naïveté and compare it to our past."<br>"I don't see why I cannot. What if they wish to leave for the same reasons; perhaps they wish to live away from danger?"  
>"Because they," he gestured to the map, "were not and are not loved by a fool of a jarl."<p>

Sottë disregarded this, letting her hands fall to her sides. "What will you have done to them?"  
>Ulfric sighed, crossing back to the other side of the map. "There is only one punishment for total desertion; execution."<br>"No!" Sottë heard herself gasp at that. "That is far too harsh a punishment for ones we do not even know the reason for their-"  
>"Execution sets a fine example to any thinking along similar lines of betrayal." He emphasized that last word greatly. "Do not stand against me."<br>"I will not allow it." Sottë said, squaring her shoulders and feeling her hands ball into fists. "I will do everything in my power to prevent this savagery."  
>"Very well. If you will not stand with me as a sister-in-arms, you cannot stand with me as a wife." He left immediately after saying that, leaving her affronted and alone, reeling in the bitter shock of his words.<p>

* * *

><p>She set off early the morning Ulfric intended to set off in an attempt to beat the rest of the men to the last sighting's location of the deserters. Sottë had not spoken to her husband in over three weeks, avoiding the man at both day and night to research the deserters and prepare her supplies respectively.<p>

Hearing the hooves of her horse thunder across the snow that had swept through her half-braided hair brought her back to the years previous of being alone, unmarried and a criminal. It no longer brought a great freedom to her, only served to chill her flesh and freeze her blood. This land was harsh.

She was unsure of how long she had thundered through the hills, but the sun had begun to rise in a leisurely and strong pace. It had been a dark winter's morning, one unrelenting to properly allow daylight in its full course, and drearily so. Navigating had been difficult yet not impossible to one of her training.

Sottë felt shock light her as she spotted something on the near horizon. A grouping of two tents (one larger than the other), their design, were grouped near the small village the deserters had been spotted at only days before. She dismounted her horse quickly as she pulled up to the would-be camp, searching quickly for signs of life. Only a few soldiers sat around the campfire, yet there were no quartermaster at the forge and no sign of her husband.

"What is the meaning of this?" Sottë yelled, advancing to the bemused men and turning on the spot to gaze at each tent. She assumed the larger one to be Ulfric's. She recognized one, the only one amongst them to be drinking no sort of ale, a new recruit. He looked positively terrified.

"Storm-Blade!" He acknowledged. She tried not to focus on the changing of her rank, having been referred to by most subordinates rather against her own will in terms of ladyship. "I-we-"  
>The young man stopped stuttering when the entrance to the larger tent fluttered, allowing Ulfric to emerge. She glowered at him, storming up to him until they were almost nose to nose. After a moment as such, he cast her an indifferent, almost amused, look, retreating back into his tent almost immediately. Seething, Sottë followed him, forcing the tent's flap down harshly.<p>

"What do you intend to achieve by this?" She spat, anger flaring throughout her as she gestured back to the entrance of the tent.  
>"I don't understand, Storm-Blade. I informed you that I intend to end insurrection and you are puzzled by it? There is nothing more to add." He paced to face away from her at the other side of the tent, his arms held behind his back.<br>The anger within her roared again as she walked to meet him, speaking to the back of his head. "You deceived me. You allowed me to think that you would not be here yet and that I would have the advantage. I would not expect such trickery from my worst enemy, nevermind my-"

"I had a duty to perform in keeping the peace within my people. You are too young to understand this."  
>"I am old enough to understand you had a duty to me!" Sottë spat, her jaw clenching.<br>"And _you _had a duty to _me_!" He roared, turning quickly to face her. She jumped as he did so, fear trickling into her. They were closer than they had been outside the tent. "I am far too old to understand such a duty. I assumed that you would understand that as a wife and someone I had presumed to love."  
>Sottë felt tears prick at her eyes, she acknowledged angrily. "Are you saying you no longer love me?"<br>"Get out." He stated, low and dangerous. Her shock rooted her to the ground. She felt her mouth slacken to almost gape at him in her shock. "I told you to get out!"

It was only when she was outside that she fully realized what had happened; he had seized her by the arm and forced her outside. Angry tears stung at her relentlessly. The men around the fire stared at her, having heard their entire conversation. She walked sharply and indignantly away, her arms doing more work to carry her away that her trembling legs.

The snow had abated, allowing her to hear the men talk as she left.  
>"It's not her fault, if you ask me," she heard of the longer-serving soldiers contribute in hushed tones, "the jarl's never been quite right in the head since the end of the war. Well, never been fully right that way since the whole Torygg thing, I would wager."<p>

Before she fully understood what she was doing, she felt her legs strengthen and bring her back to the fire. She saw her right hand fly to the man's shoulder, bringing him roughly from his feet to face her. His scared and shocked expression was horrifically distorted by the new fire below them.

"You dare..." Sottë seethed, one hand finding its way to clutch the front of his tunic and the other to one of her swords. "You dare slander Skyrim's high king? You are not worthy of judging more than a worm."  
>"Y-yes, ma'am, I'm sorry-"<br>"I see no sorrow in you, cold, uncaring man," she turned, throwing him onto the cold, unforgiving ground. "Return home and inform your family of why your cause no longer wants you, see if they will understand such a denial of your devotion."  
>She ignored both the sounds of the man colliding with the earth and the others gaping up at her and her uncharacteristic behavior, turning in the direction of her horse against the winds of the hills.<p>

She had ridden through the hills for too long, now. Her canteen was as light as it had ever been, with the thinnest of water remaining and no likely, unfrozen places for it to refill. A primal urge filled her to survive, yet an even wilder one drove her to find the deserters and bring them to a fair and honorable justice.

Even if it would kill her, she would not see her own people destroyed due to a lack of faith on the part of their leader. Sottë dug her heels into her exhausted horse's flanks, willing the creature on. Her face felt positively raw from the uphill, cold conditions and wind. The horse would not last longer without rest, and she suspected that she herself would not, either.

Sottë pulled into the first cave she saw, leading the horse behind her with one hand to the reigns, the other on one of her swords. Light emanated from deep within the shallow cave; she had had not suspected it to be this small a cave, and light from its furthest reaches suggest human activity. She trod carefully, utterly detesting the blinding sensation the unknown parts of a cave gave her.

"Stay back!" A voice warned. Sottë turned, seeing the woman who had said those two words, "stay right there and drop your weapon."  
>She pointed a cheap iron sword at her, a more-calm man standing away from her and to her right. Sottë released her horse's reigns to withdraw her other sword.<p>

"I can't do that, sorry. You're going to have to make me." Sottë growled, voice a low warning.  
>"Lindberg. Stop it." The man said in a soothing manner, extending an arm to pull down the woman's hand that grasped the sword. She relented, allowing herself to be disarmed by him.<p>

"You-you're the deserters?" Sottë asked, thoroughly startled.  
>"I knew it! You're here to put an end to us." Lindberg lifted her sword once more, "I will not allow it."<br>"No-no, I wanted to find you both first, to help you!" Sottë tried to smile encouragingly, "I set off from everyone else to reach you first and prevent your execution. I just didn't expect you both to be..."  
>"Lovers?" Lindberg grimaced, recalling some unsavory memory. "Aye, it seems neither did the rest of them."<p>

"Low-ranking soldiers aren't allowed to fraternize, nevermind embark on romantic relations. We ran before we allowed ourselves to think of the consequences." Berglund spoke now, his less impulsive demeanor apparent.  
>"The punishment for desertion is death." Sottë informed them, "arguably a far more harsh one that of fraternization."<br>"If two soldiers are found fraternizing, they are to be separated throughout Skyrim, milady. Death would be an easier and fairer punishment than days apart and wonderings if the other still lives." Berglund said in his soft, quiet voice.

"I understand." Sottë nodded, "and I do not wish to punish you for your leaving."  
>"I suspected you to understand, milady." Berglund grinned.<br>"How can we trust her?" Lindberg hissed, hand still grasping at her cheap yet sharp sword.  
>"I know full well of romantic fraternization." Sottë spoke for Berglund, "and I laud all who are brave enough to act upon it. Its product is an unselfish and passionate thing of the purest love, even if it is not always apparent. Even if its product is detested by all others, even your love's subject, at times."<br>"And you will allow us to go free?" Lindberg asked quietly, her free hand meeting Berglund's.  
>"Yes," Sottë felt a smile twitch at the corners of her mouth. "But you must provide me with evidence, note, of our encounter, explaining your situation and all you have told me. My husband is not an evil or unkind man, just a duty-bound one. He is understanding."<br>"And I understand that." Berglund replied, gazing a sideways glance to Lindberg as he squeezed her hand.

She had waited patiently as the two compiled and wrote their story, watching the dawn arrive through the partial light of the cave. Sottë informed them to spend the next day at the cave to allow her to see the men return to Windhelm as she thundered back down to Ulfric's camp, wishing the couple luck as she left.

Sottë stormed past the dead fire's embers, now devoid of the soldiers she suspected slept in the smaller tent. She stormed straight into the larger tent, taking no care in gently passing through its entrance as before. Ulfric was awake, which was no surprise to her. He was sat on a makeshift bench, gazing blankly at the tent in a way she knew to be him in thought. However, he did immediately look up at her as she entered, shock from the preceding events evident on his face. She really could read him like a book, Sottë mused.

Bravely, she crossed to meet him, feeling his eyes on her all the way. Sottë dropped to straddle him, doing so purely out of a need to be of a closer proximity, feeling his forehead come into contact with hers. She felt his hands go to her waist to grasp at her, her own arms encircling his neck. Her breath caught in her throat.  
>"I heard you defending me last night," Ulfric said, refraining from smiling just yet, "even when you had every reason not to. Thank you."<br>"I'm sorry," she felt tears prick at her eyes. "I...I..."

Sottë found herself unable to form a sentence; too many problems needed to be dealt with. Some voice in the back of her mind shuddered at allowing herself to become so overcome with emotion. She disregarded the voice.  
>"You did the right thing, as always," he continued, sighing at himself. She felt his warm breath roll off her, "the men out there were right; I have changed since the end of the war, and that hasn't been fair on you, my love. The waiting is not my strong point, and it never will be."<br>"They were in love, Ulfric," she heard herself say, shuddering along eventually, "Lindberg and Berglund, they were a man and a woman, two soldiers in love."

She watched her words dawn on him, his expression a shocked and understanding one. "They were terrified to lose one another if they were found involved, to be separated throughout Skyrim. I could not allow it, Ulfric. I would not allow their execution because of something so unremitting as love."  
>He broke his eyes from her, gazing at the floor process her words. "I see."<br>Sottë felt a tear fall without her consent and cursed it angrily yet inwardly. He looked back to her upon hearing her attempt at a nonchalant sniff, wiping away the stray tear with a smile for fear of seeming an uncaring fool.

His tone turned more serious. "I am sorry. I had no idea that such things happened with my men- well, within my ranks."  
>"Well, it does." Sottë grunted, "and I can barely fathom why punishment for such is so harsh."<br>"It needs to be discouraged," Ulfric said after a pause. "Imagine if more than half of our men were like this? It only serves to further divide and weaken our men, and at such an important time we cannot afford fatal mistakes."  
>"Is that why you never wanted me to go to battle before the end of the war and before we were together?"<br>"Yes," she felt her eyebrows raise at his honesty, "I was selfish and I could have endangered our men by not allowing their strongest asset- you- into battle. It is why I still fear the day my own wife wishes to aid in putting down that first inevitable Imperial Army uprising, no matter how small it is. You and I are the very epitome of the dangers of fraternization."  
>"You aren't going to lose me, my love," she whispered.<br>"I know, and I know how strong you are, but I can never be certain that I will never lose you," she felt his grasp on her tighten slightly to emphasize his point, "and I can't lose you so soon after finding you. I don't care how much Sovngarde may want you."

She smiled at that. "If I had the power to attempt as such, I would. But for now you're just going to have to suffer me as a wife."  
>Sottë rejoined their foreheads, pressing a kiss to her husband's lips firmly as she did so.<br>"I could never suffer you as a wife," he chuckled, "I actually rather _enjoy _you as a wife."  
>She pretended to be offended, letting her mouth fall open. She kissed him again, hungrily this time. "I shall choose to take that as a compliment."<p>

Sottë seized his hand, pulling him to his feet eagerly as they drifted towards his makeshift yet also somehow luxurious bed. She reapplied his hands soonafter. "Allow me to show you how wifely I can be."


	24. New Additions

_A/N: Alright, so I definitely made this one waaaay too long. It's been too long since I wrote for BC, and it's a storyline I have been wanting to write for ages. I'm not going to write a summary here, because quite a bit happens, and I'll guess you'll just have to read to see what the next stage in the relationship is. :P_

* * *

><p>"Sottë-"<br>"Is it over?"  
>"Sottë-"<br>"Is it finished?"

A moment of silence.  
>"Answer me!" Her voice grew weaker. "Please."<br>"Yes, yes. It's over." He tried to steady her as he so often before, despite his own desperation almost knocking him off balance. It was of little use, she fell to the blackened ground, no longer able to support herself. He followed her, clutching her in his arms to prevent her from seriously injuring herself. It was a pitiful sight, to see the powerful woman sent to the blackened snow against the backdrop of the necromancer's newly-smouldering residence.

"I-"  
>"Stand. It is not far to Windhelm from here."<br>"I can't get...I love you."  
>"No, stop this." He was becoming emotional, and he knew this. It was a strikingly cold Sun's Dawn, and their respective armours were little to keep out the chill. "It's needless to talk in such a way, come on."<br>She had already fainted by the time she had gotten halfway back to her feet, and he barely had time enough to catch her. He began to panic inwardly as he heaved her leaden form upwards and set off in a swift pace east towards Windhelm.

* * *

><p>"How is she?"<br>"She does very fine, actually," Heddvild, Sottë's younger sister replied. The girl had taken quite a bit to medical treatment, especially in the field. Many Stormcloaks often sought her out; she was quite a natural. Ulfric no longer trusted the medical care of his new wife to just anyone, the last occasions had not ended well, and the dangers associated with her being the Dragonborn were not minimal, "it's mostly just the exhaustion, she needs to have a full length of sleep. There is no need to look so panicked, my Jarl."  
>Ulfric grimaced. "Does this mean she can be visited?"<p>

Heddvild thought on this. It had already been a good two nights since she had been taken to one of the spare bedrooms to be attended for exhaustion and her injuries sustained in the battle they had set out on to end the necromancer Ashardon, the necromancer who had plagued them for months before. Sottë had tracked him down days before, and they had set out that morning to end the nightmare once and for all.

"Can you wait another hour or so to allow her more sleep?" Heddvild asked, shattering his train of thought.  
>"Yes, of course." Ulfric smiled, watching the young woman descend to bring the Jarl's wife more food from the kitchens. He contemplated entering the room, but defeatedly decided against it in fear of Heddvild's wrath. It was funny, really. The Jarl of Windhelm, the son of the Bear of Eastmarch was almost scared of the Andrel girls, small, unsuspecting women who could wield their weapons well. Perhaps that was what made them all so appealing to many men in Windhelm and beyond.<p>

"My Jarl-"  
>Ulfric was startled, turning to face Galmar Stone-Fist.<br>"Galmar." He acknowledged. Galmar raised an eyebrow at his old friend.  
>"I didn't startle you, did I, my lord?"<br>"No, no, of course not," he dismissed the idea as if it were impossible for him to feel a range of emotion at all, "I am just not accustomed to the peace yet."  
>"I wouldn't think of peace just yet, my lord. You see, a messenger arrived from the west, but the girl was sent to the inn to rest."<p>

Ulfric focussed upon Galmar. "There is trouble?"  
>Galmar nodded solemnly. "There are reports of some of the old Imperial Army camps westwards attacking nearby settlements and Stormcloak camps."<br>"Old camps? I didn't even think there were any in existence."  
>"Not many, sire, but reports only began with yesterday's dawn."<br>Ulfric nodded, taking in the information. "How many camps were reported?"  
>"A good handful; about 4 or 5 culminating at the most. Mostly between Solitude and Morthal."<p>

Ulfric was shocked, shocked that he had allowed this to pass under his own nose. Shocked that he had not protected his land as he should in his sure near-election to High King by the moot.  
>"Then we go to them."<br>"But what of the Stormbla...Lady Sottë?" Galmar corrected himself, still not accustomed to the two as a couple despite its inevitability. "Without her we will sure be at a disadvantage."  
>Ulfric grumbled his agreement. "I will visit her presently."<p>

Galmar nodded, leaving him to go to the war room once more. Ulfric tentatively opened the door to the spare room Sottë was in, closing it softly behind him. She was already awake, much to his surprise. She didn't look at him as he entered the door, focussed on the book placed in her crossed legs. The sheets covered her bare feet, with her torso being otherwise only covered by criss-crossing bandages that managed to preserve her modesty. Her legs remained still in the thick farmer's leggings she wore under armour. Her brown locks were unbraided and brushed, tickling at her neck. The gold circlet he had given her sat on the bedside table.

"This is a very dry book..._Ice And Chitin. _Hrmm, who knew there was so much fun to be had with, well, ice and chitin? Apparently a good few dusty pages worth." Sottë laughed nervously. As he placed himself next to her, his eyes fell to her left arm: the forearm was lightly bandaged, supported by a makeshift wooden splint and supported by a clean, cloth sling.  
>"You may legitimately insult my book collection when you read something of a higher quality than <em>Hard in Hightown: Siege Harder<em>." Ulfric scoffed.  
>"That's merited, but I am just going to forget that you know I have that book." Sottë closed the book in her lap and attempted to move it, not an easy task with only one arm. Ulfric caught the book, his hand catching hers. She clutched his hand for dear life.<p>

"What happened?" Ulfric said, gesturing to the injury.  
>"Heddvild thinks my left arm to have quite bad damage to the bone, but there's no way to know, really, without aggravating it further."<br>"Ah, that is an injury I'm not unfamiliar with," Ulfric paused, mind racing at what he needed to ask her, "when will it be healed by?"  
>Sottë demonstrated an awkward one-armed shrug. "I'm not sure, Heddvild seems to think a good few weeks."<p>

Ulfric nodded, uncertain. He could feel the woman's knowing gaze on him as he tried to avoid it.  
>"But there's something else, isn't there?" At her words, he felt her cold, clammy and uninjured right hand squeeze his right hand.<br>"I-it's not important right now. What I need is for you to rest, and to not be reading of _Ice And Chitin._"  
>"But I was having so much fun," Sottë pouted mockingly, "you came along at the right time, my Jarl."<p>

She busied herself in kissing him in what had been a long awaited and much-needed kiss. She boldly placed his hands on her hips. He broke the kiss.  
>"Do you not think it's a bit innappropriate, now?" Ulfric half-laughed, his prior worry for his wife near-obliterated. Sottë chuckled at that.<br>"You can't blame me for trying to help," she laughed, holding the good hand up defensively. "But I know what you're so worried about. I'm worried, too."

"You do? You are?" Ulfric felt his brow furrow.  
>"Yes, these new recruits that are coming in tomorrow. It's quite a strange event. To have so many such a large group training is needed."<br>Ulfric stopped himself from correcting her. Truthfully, he had completely forgotten about the new additions to the Windhelm outpost. "Yes. Yes, it's nothing, really. It's silly of me to be so worried, I'm sure it's nothing. Nothing will come from worrying. There's truly nothing to worry about."  
>Sottë blinked at him momentarily. "Are you alright? I've never heard the word 'nothing' be used in a sentence so often."<p>

"Aye," Ulfric sighed. "Ignore me, it's just exhaustion from the events of the past few days. It's not everyday your wife nearly dies on you."  
>Sottë looked sheepish. "I'm sorry. Even the mightiest of dragons are felled in battle from time to time, eh?"<br>"Don't get ahead of yourself," he grinned at her, feeling the woman rest her head on his shoulder.

"Heddvild's not letting me go back to our room tonight. Stay with me tonight?"  
>"Doesn't that sort of go against the whole idea of staying in here?"<br>"Technically it doesn't," Sottë offered, tilting her face to grin at him. Ulfric hesitated, remembering himself.  
>"I- I must speak with Galmar."<br>"What, now? To ask him permission to spend the night with your own wife?" Sottë chuckled at the man's behavior.  
>"He told me to speak with him as soon as I had checked on you," Ulfric murmured, "I'm sorry, my love. I'll check on you straight afterwards."<br>"Hmph. Alright." Sottë huffed, annoyed that she had been, in her eyes, ditched by her husband for Galmar.

Heddvild entered through the door as Ulfric left, placing a loaf of bread down on the bedside table as she entered.  
>"Where was the Jarl off to in such a hurry?" She asked, looking in quite a concerned manner towards the now-closed door.<br>"Off to talk to his lovely Galmar, it would appear." Sottë huffed.  
>"Someone's crabby."<br>"Oh, shut up."

Silence passed between the two sisters. Sottë drew up her knees to her chest, shielding herself from the cold.  
>"His royal Nordness is acting strangely is all," Sottë muttered, "I don't know why."<br>"It's understandable, what with the war ending, his wife being injured and having a throne to assume all cropping up in the space of about five days." Heddvild replied, shaking her head slightly.  
>"I suppose."<p>

"He probably just needs some time to have a last look at the plans to fortify the Holds. Don't worry about it."  
>"It's not just that," Sottë sighed, turning to face her sister. She nervously seized the pillow from the head of the bed and began fiddling with a corner of it in her lap. "I think...I think I may be pregnant."<br>"You wha-?!"  
>"Shush, ssssshh." Sottë gestured frantically with her hands for the girl to quieten. "You cannot tell anyone. I have no idea if I'm right or not."<br>"How long have you thought...?"  
>"Only within the last few days. Talos knows I've read on the topic, but, I'm unsure, do you not remember Aunt Adelaide's pregnancy?"<br>Heddvild nodded.

"I was nearly fifteen summers old when she had her first child, she was staying with us when she found out. Mother insisted she stay with us for as long as she needed, Aunt Adelaide's husband had died days before you see, hence why she had been staying with us. I tended the woman for most of those months as mother had the farm to work on, too..."  
>Heddvild nodded, a small "ah" escaping her lips as her sister trailed off.<br>"I recognize the signs quite well, it would seem."

"What will you do if you are pregnant? Do you hope you are?" Heddvild questioned.  
>"I'm not sure...these are very difficult and dangerous times. Do I want to bring a child into that?"<br>"Difficult times that have just ended. The era that's coming is a more peaceful one."  
>"True," Sottë nodded. "I suppose it is something that I have thought of since we have been married. I'm not great mother material, but it is something I would like to happen eventually. It would be nice to see the young Stormcloak, all his mother's strength and his father's dashing good looks. I guess it was inevitable, really. Especially with the rate that we-"<br>"Oh please!" Heddvild threw her hands up, covering her ears and scrunching her eyes shut. "I would like to still be able to look the Jarl in the eye, thank you very much."

Sottë laughed in spite of herself, hitting her sister once with the pillow she held.  
>"I have no idea what I'm going to do." Sottë stated.<br>"How did he take it?"  
>The older woman pursed her lips, her mind working fast.<br>"I didn't tell him," she blurted out, cringing at her own behavior.  
>"You didn't- why not?"<br>"How could I? Hello again, sorry for nearly dying on you for the billionth time, I'm glad we killed that necromancer who burned down the ancient Palace, cost us thousands in repairs and tried to torture Inna and I. Oh and by the way, I think I may be pregnant. Are there any sweetrolls left in the larder?"  
>"Alright, alright. I guess he's going to have to wait for a bit."<br>"Until I make sure, at least." Sottë corrected. "And you-"  
>"My lips are sealed." Heddvild mimed sealing her lips and her sister evidently sighed in relief. "Now you, get some rest."<p>

* * *

><p>Heddvild closed her sister's door behind her softly. <em>Wow, <em>she thought. She had most definitely not expected that. She ran a hand through her cropped hair before descending into the war room. She stopped, listening to Ulfric speak from the throne room.  
>"...and reports of westward camps have been cropping up since Tirdas last week. Luckily, these camps, although near Solitude in terms of technicalities, are widely dispersed and, as such, leave little room for a swift and large uprising against our own numbers. We do have our upperhand, of course. Ice-Veins- Inna Andrel."<p>

Heddvild was shocked to hear her own twin sister speak up.  
>"Thank you, my Jarl. It is an honor to be of such help to the cause." Heddvild rolled her eyes, "When I was stationed westwards a month ago, there was no talk of such an uprising, no fall of Imperial Army was being contemplated on that side, of course."<br>Heddvild heard a few deep chuckles from the back of the room. They soon ceased as Ulfric cast his eye warningly, very much reminded her of a firm parent. Heddvild sighed. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing?

"But I do know of the camps you speak. The Hjaalmarch camp had been mine, once. And I know which of those soldiers are leaders from their behavior and their-"  
>"This is all very well, but what of the Eastmarch camp just outside of the city walls?"<br>The same deep voices that had laughed now murmured a hearty agreeance, many joining in this.  
>"Quiet! Let the Ice-Veins finish her information! It is common knowledge that the Eastmarch camp was wiped out early, I will not listen to rumor."<br>"It's hardly rumor when there's been reported sightings, my Jarl." A more respectful Stormcloak chipped in this time, and many murmured agreement to her words. Ulfric looked to Inna, trying to convey his apology for the interruption.  
>"It will be dealt with in due course, my friends. Our numbers are growing enough to deal with any threat. Allow the Ice-Veins to finish if we are to get anywhere today."<p>

Heddvild grimaced. Yes, their numbers were growing, but definitely not at a rate fast enough to quell any uprising. They needed those new recruits if the rumors were true. They needed the Dragonborn.

The murmurs of men and women silenced for the moment, and Inna finished her speech and returned to her seat. Those who were off-duty dispersed to the town. Heddvild placed herself next to her sister at the banquet table.  
>"Sister." Heddvild acknowledged somewhat coldly. Inna's face brightened up, turning to beam up at her.<br>"Sister! Sister, did you see them? They _listened_ to me. They actually applauded when I finished."  
>"You spoke well." Heddvild smiled stiffly, genuinely pleased for the girl. She watched Inna's face fall, following her line of sight.<p>

"Sottë! What are you doing out of bed?" Heddvild hissed, steering her sister to the seat across from them.  
>"I heard the noise. I need to talk to Ulfric, I must tell him- is he here?"<br>"Yes, he's over there," Inna pointed to Ulfric, talking to the animated stragglers on their way out the grand double doors. "Tell him what?"  
>"N-nothing. Here he comes."<br>Heddvild and Inna exchanged identical looks of exasperation as the eldest of the three got up to address her husband.

"Ulfric-"  
>"What are you doing up? You need to be rested for that arm to heal without the use of magic."<br>Sottë shuddered. Her encounter with the necromancer had made her temporarily wary of coming into contact with magic.  
>"I must speak with you."<br>"And I, you." Ulfric grimaced, bracing himself for the news he was about to offload. "There is trouble within the old Imperial Army camp outside the city. Me and some others are going to travel there and rout any threat there, and we're going to do it tonight."

"What? Why tonight?"  
>"It seems the men won't settle until it is done. There is a camp right outside the town that needs to be taken care of, apparently." He took her warm, small hand in his cold, large one, stroking a thumb across the back of her lightly-scarred hand.<br>"I understand," Sottë sighed defeatedly. "It's important to keep the men happy at a time like this."  
>"Even if it involves neglecting your injured wife when she needs you the most?"<br>"Especially then." Sottë smiled wanly; he had no idea how true that was. "But I can wait."  
>"It's only the Eastmarch camp we go to tonight, I shall be back in the morning. I'm sure the men can't change their minds now."<br>"They won't. You'll be back at this hour tomorrow."  
>"Absolutely, but for now, you have to," he paused to kiss the back of her uninjured hand lavishly, not breaking eye contact with the woman, "rest."<p>

He received her in his embrace.

"Old-fashioned, smooth move, though," Inna observed. They had been watching the pair from afar, as covertly as possible. Although they were not within earshot, they had been attempting to read body language.  
>"A bit much, but I'd wager it worked on Sottë." Heddvild agreed, laughing. Inna joined in her laugh.<br>"I'm surprised he's managed to talk her into staying at the Palace. Even with a broken wrist it'll be difficult to stop her."  
>"Oh, yes. Definitely." Heddvild nodded. She had a bad feeling about this.<p>

* * *

><p>Heddvild stopped them later on in the war room. Thankfully, it was only late afternoon, and the Jarl and only a few men were there yet.<br>"Excuse me, my Jarl?" Heddvild asked, pulling the Jarl from his reverie as he observed the war room's color-coded map.

"Heddvild, what can I do for you?"  
>"It's about the camp, sir. I wish to go with you."<br>Ulfric furrowed his brow. "Out of the question. I trust no one else to tend to Sottë. You must remain."  
>"Please, sir, Inna's as proficient as I am, and she's opted to stay and care for her. I really would like to go."<br>"But what of the girl's knowledge? We need her for the camp-"  
>"Forgive me sir, but she was not stationed at that camp. She'd be as much use as the rest of us, there." Heddvild interrupted, suddenly thinking herself brave enough to interrupt the Jarl.<br>"That she was not," Ulfric mused, "very well. You should go and get your sword."  
>"Thank you, sir."<p>

Heddvild resisted the urge to whoop. Gods damn her if she would allow him to go without her. If something were to happen to them all, she knew that Sottë had not told him. Heddvild listened to her instincts, and went to get her gear. The uneasy feeling at the pit of her stomach was lessened ever so slightly.

* * *

><p>"Have they set off yet?" Sottë asked, freshly changed into her nightwear. She had thankfully finished involuntarily emptying the contents of her stomach into an unlucky bucket moments before Inna had entered her room. With Heddvild being away also, she still opted to sleep in the guestroom. Her usual chambers without her husband would be odd and lonely.<p>

"Yes," Inna said. "The should be back by dawn, they plan on scouring the perimeter of the camp for stragglers."  
>"Oh, good." Sottë breathed, lowering herself onto the bed tentatively in her nauseous and injured state. "I'm sorry that you had to stay with me, Inna."<br>"Don't apologize, I wanted to stay and help. It's nice to have the opportunity to make up for lost time." She smiled at her sister, angling her head to meet her gaze.

Inna turned to exit once she noticed Sottë's eyes falling shut.  
>"Inna?" Came Sottë's voice. Inna turned to face her.<br>"Will you stay with me?"  
>Inna smiled and replied that she would, not fully realizing how close her sister was to her husband. Inna envied that, even in her lesser age.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Sottë was dreaming. It was her first dream she had had since the end of the war, and the beauty of it was that it was not a dream about necromancy, or being dissected. It was an ordinary dream, and she was aware of its nature. It was a memory, one from around four months since she had joined the Stormcloaks.<em>

_She was the only Ice-Veins within the ranks back then, and she was just beginning to enjoy her frequent meals at the Palace. She entered that day with Jakob, a fellow Stormcloak who was lodging also at Candlehearth Hall. He had not lodged for long, staying only for a week or two. He had talked to her frequently since he had begun lodging, frequently stopping her in the corridor to talk whenever he got the chance._

_He was kindly enough, if a bit forwards at time. Sottë found herself offput from him, unsure of what- she could not place exactly- made her not too ready to give him her affections._  
><em>"That beggar was definitely staring at you, Sottë." Jakob stated, giving her a knowing glance and a wink. She rolled her eyes; he would probably take this as a playful gesture (it wasn't).<em>  
><em>"Oh hush, he was not. He merely expected you to give him a coin."<em>

_Jakob ignored the idea of charity, instead proceeding. "I think it's the trousers."_  
><em>Sottë looked down: she had not had chance to rid her armor of its bloodstains from a night's hunting, and she had barely any civilian clothes anymore. She had instead opted for a simple brown and white blouse tucked into a simple pair of leather trousers.<em>  
><em>"What? What's wrong with them?"<em>  
><em>"They're a bit..." he raised his eyebrows in an attempt to illustrate his point, "a bit...sexy."<em>  
><em>Sottë felt herself blush profusely. "They are not! They're just pants, and anyone who thinks they're 'sexy' has problems."<em>

_She had enjoyed inadvertently insulting the man, and she strode in front of him to push open the door to the Palace. Perhaps Jakob had been right; she could feel many male eyes on her hind quarters as she crossed to the table. Never having received such attention enmasse, she_

_awkwardly paced her way to the food in the centre of the table. After portioning her food up, she grumpily took her bowl to the war room, relieved to be free of the eyes on her behind._

_Ulfric was stood over the large map, his shoulders square and head inclined downwards. Sottë felt her heartbeat flutter ever so slightly. She had admitted to herself that she found the man incredibly handsome, with a rich voice that had such effect on her. She was a bit entranced by him, she admitted to herself._

_"Hello," she greeted, forgetting herself. Ulfric looked up at her words, immediately averting his eyes conspicuously._  
><em>"Ah, er, hello," he replied, clearing his throat. He cast a glance over at her. She was leaning against the wall across from him, very much looking sullen and angry. She could feel his eyes on her, unsure if they unashamedly traced her form or merely studied her. She suspected partly both.<em>

_"Is something the matter?" The Jarl asked._  
><em>"Oh-me?" She hadn't realized he spoke to her at first. "Oh, nothing."<em>

_He tried to return to the map, the image of her fresh in his mind. By the Nine._  
><em>"Would you call these trousers 'sexy'?" She asked innocently, merely curious as to whether or not everyone except her had sexualized leather trousers. She had put down her bowl, moving her hips in attempt to inspect herself better. He groaned inwardly.<em>

_"I- er, apologize, I did not mean-" Sottë blathered, quickly picking up her bowl. "I did not mean to speak inappropriately. My Jarl."_  
><em>And with that she left, exiting back into the main hall. Guiltily, he watched her shapely retreating rear. He sighed at the effect the woman had on him already; utterly unattainable and highly inappropriate for one of his class and rank.<em>

* * *

><p>Sottë blinked awake; Inna was gone from her side. She hurried to rise, not bothering to change from her nightwear as she descended the stairs. Inna met her in the war room.<p>

"What hour is it?" Sottë asked, blinking in the daylight.  
>"The second hour after noon." Inna replied curtly.<br>"Why aren't they back?"

Inna shrugged. "I'm not sure. They should be. They will be."  
>She returned to pacing the floor, Galmar watching anxiously.<p>

* * *

><p>It had been weeks since they had set off to clear the Eastmarch camp. Sottë's nausea was not as bad anymore, but she was certain she was pregnant, and it was getting harder to hide from the likes of Inna and Galmar.<p>

Sottë had dressed swiftly, finding Galmar in the main hall, rubbing his temple.  
>"Galmar? What's the matter?"<br>Galmar took a deep breath before talking. "If Ulfric does not return soon, someone will have to be installed to take his position as Jarl until his return."  
>"Is that not me by default? I'm capable of the role."<br>"You're certainly not old enough, the people wouldn't like it."  
>"But the people like me." She groaned in defense.<br>"No- it must be someone who had prior sympathies to the cause, to install you would seem...lazy."

Sottë felt anger and annoyance bubble in the pit of her stomach.  
>"Then why not me? I don't understand the-"<br>"You are with child, are you not?" Galmar interrupted. Sottë was taken aback, gaping at the man for a few moments.  
>"Yes."<br>"I thought as much," Galmar stated. "You do not know the stresses of being the Jarl, it is not healthy. It is most definitely not healthy for one in such a condition, even if that one is the wise and strong _Dovahkiin_. Ulfric would have my hide, and I fear what would happen to you and the child."

She sighed. The very notion of a child solidified the idea in her mind. _A child. _The idea was not so scary. She would pray to Talos that the father would return. Sottë turned to ascend the stairs, annoyed, passing Inna on the way. She assumed her sister had heard everything.

* * *

><p>"Come away from the window, Sottë." Inna soothed. It had become a daily ritual for Sottë to stand at the south-facing windows at dawn, sometimes for a good few hours.<br>"Yes..." Sottë showed no sign of movement.  
>"It's not good for the child. You will strain yourself."<p>

It had been almost four months since Ulfric, Heddvild and many of their men had left. It seemed like years, decades even, to Sottë, to have the man she loved and the sister she so verily needed to be gone for so long.  
>"You don't think they're...?" Sottë asked, her eyes glassy. Her hand subconsciously swept to feel the new yet slight bump of her abdomen.<br>"Absolutely not." Inna said, directing the woman away from the window as if she were made of glass. "Get some rest."  
>"I don't want any bloody rest!" Sottë snapped, brushing her sister's hands from her shoulders and sweeping out of the room and down the stairs.<p>

"Ah, my lady," Galmar interrupted her in the war room from exiting the Palace. "I wish to speak with you."  
>"Of course, I'm listening," Sottë gestured for him to go on.<br>"I wonder if it has occurred to you what may happen to the jarldom should Ulfric not return."

"Yes," Sottë took deep, calming breaths, "I am well aware that if I am unable to inherit the jarldom for whatever reason, a newcomer shall be elected and me and my family shall have nowhere to live. Lovely news for a pregnant woman to hear who shall give birth in Sun's Dusk."  
>"Aha, but fear not, there are alternatives." Galmar tried to smile hesitantly (he realized it was more of a grimace), choosing his words very carefully. "With you being possibly widowed-"(her heart plummeted at the implication)"-it would be very acceptable for you to marry again, and to marry the next possible Jarl."<p>

Sottë blinked at the older man for a good while. "I...what?"  
>"It is an easy way for you to remain and keep your power, alongside one of the same standing. The candidate most likel-"<br>"But I'm not marrying someone of the same standing to Ulfric. I'm not marrying anyone. We don't know that he isn't alive."

Galmar grimaced again. "Realistically speaking, it does appear that the small amount of men that left are not returning. It saddens me to think it, but-"  
>"But no! Absolutely not. Until there is a legitimate reason as to why I cannot inherit my husband's position, I shall never consider remarriage."<br>"The reason why it is disallowed because of appearances. Although you are well liked, many think you to have married the jarl for the power, money and title. As an outsider who did not witness the way you two were, it certainly appears that way."

Sottë wanted to whimper about the falsity, but she knew that was pointless and would make her seem the fool.  
>"I- I never gave that impression, surely."<br>"With the quick development of your relationship, it certainly appears that way. If you are with child you must marry again, there is no other path."  
>Sottë nodded slowly, her fists clenching as her anger reached its height. "This is never to be spoken of again, do you understand?"<p>

Before she could wait for him to reply, Sottë heaved herself up the grand staircase and into the room she had once shared with her husband. Locking the door behind her, she gingerly lowered herself onto their bed and relived all the memories she had of this room. The first night spent together, the small, petty arguments, the times he had woken up silently from some nightmare of torture from the Great War and she had silently comforted him, the night the Civil War had been won and she had drank too much. She dwelled on that last memory for a moment. It had been sweet; she had tried her charms in her drunken state and he had told her to rest and left her, ever the gentleman. Oh, how Sottë had hated him in that moment for not bedding her then and there. It was only now she realized how tender he had been. And how unfathomably deep she loved him; it had scared her when she had first come to realize it. They had been soldier and leader, and she thought herself a plain girl of unmentionable beginnings. She had been lucky the faction had taken her in given her reputation. She could not fathom the man falling for her. How had she done it?

Sottë lowered herself onto her back, inhaling that ether of her lost husband and the last night they had shared in that bed: passionate, loving, warm and fast-paced. Now, her back twinged as she lay there in the dark, cold as the winter drew ever nearer, and alone. But heaviest of all, she knew Galmar to be correct. She felt a warm tear slide down her cheek.

* * *

><p>Sottë woke up that next morning disorientated, as if the past few months had been a sadistic nightmare. She did not truly acknowledge that she would soon be a mother, instead the news of a child not having truly sunk in yet. Her eyes were sore from crying, something she rarely indulged in.<p>

She would bring herself to apologize to Galmar. She had been a fool to berate him, he had only tried to help and she had cut the man with her words. She descended the stairs once more.

"Galmar, I-" She had not spotted the man he talked to. At first, Sottë had thought the man to be Ulfric. After a fraction of a second, she realized it was not, her heart sinking as she did so.

His features were actually quite different: the eyes were a different shade of blue, more grey or green, and there was a complete lack of warmth to them; they drew around the room sharply in distaste. His nose was large, yet straight. Her husband's had evidently been broken and reset decades ago in a way that suited his rugged looks. This man's lips were also very thin, drawn together in a disdainful line. The hair was almost exactly the same, but it was not the locks of the husband she adored. His cold eyes stopped flitting about the room to rest on her. She returned his gaze as coldly, angry at him for getting her hopes up.

"Ah, my lady, I was just about to fetch you," Galmar began, ominously curt, "this is Magnar Styrke, he was a distant cousin of Ulfric's."  
>Sottë felt her hand being seized by his. "How distant?" She asked dryly. Styrke laughed at this as if it were intended to be a joke. Galmar looked from one to the other.<br>"He is a candidate for the jarldom, a possible candidate for marriage if you will it."

Sottë felt the breath knocked out of her at his abrupt nature. Was it such a casual thing, to get married?  
>"I am very sorry to hear about your husband, my lady. He was a good man."<br>Sottë was unaware how he knew this, never having heard of him from Ulfric before this date.  
>"Thank you. He is."<p>

Galmar coughed pointedly. "Lady Sottë never had the chance to tell the Jarl that she was with child, Sir Styrke. You can imagine her pain."  
>Sottë resisted the urge to scowl at Galmar, talking about her as if she were not even there.<br>"That is terrible, incredibly sad." Styrke tutted. She retracted her hand.  
>"Well, thank you for visiting. You have my thanks."<br>"Will I be...able to visit you again sometime, my lady?" Styrke issued, stopping her in her tracks.  
>Sottë glanced over to Galmar who was nodding very swiftly behind Styrke. It hit her in that moment how much he cared for her and the unborn Stormcloak, and she felt guilt seep into her bones.<br>"Y-yes," she answered, looking back to the younger man, "yes, you may."

Styrke nodded and smiled, turning to Galmar with a questioning expression. Sottë back upstairs, the urge to bathe hitting her swiftly as she did so.

* * *

><p>Sottë had just finished telling Inna of all that had transpired that morning. The girl looked very taken aback, gaping at her sister.<br>"What are you to do?" Inna breathed, shock setting in.  
>"I...I don't see any other choice. I love Ulfric beyond life, unlike anything I've ever known. I could never love anymore even slightly like that. But I don't see any other way to survive on my own."<p>

She started to sob quietly.  
>"Oh, sister," Inna wrapped an arm around the defeated woman's shoulders. "You musn't...you musn't be so downhearted."<br>"I'm scared, Inna. In my eyes, I'm still married, even if my husband died months ago. I can't forget him, and it's killing me. But what if, years from now, I find that I can forget him?"  
>"Sottë, I don't understand. This isn't possible. You have his child to think of, to remember him by. A child of both your creating. That's a fantastic reminder."<br>Sottë ceased in her sniffing. "I-I understand. Thank you, sister." She pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek before pulling her into a hug. "I think of Heddvild everyday."  
>"As do I, sister. Every minute."<p>

There was a sharp rapping on the door. The two women exchanged confused looks.  
>"I'll answer it," Inna said rising. Sottë felt like crying all over again when she saw Styrke at the door.<br>"I need to talk to Lady Sottë, please." He added the last as an afterthought. Inna looked at Sottë, confused.  
>"It's alright, Inna, I'll go with him."<p>

They walked in silence awkwardly for a good few minutes.  
>"How long is it until your child arrives?" Styrke asked bluntly, any charm he had attempted to display for Inna's sake gone.<br>"A good three months." Sottë stated. It seemed the two understod one another perfectly. Through the other, one would receive the Palace they wanted; one out of greed and the other out of longing for the past.  
>"And the child is most definitely my cousin's?"<br>Sottë could not contain herself, she stopped walking and turned to face the man, spitting out her words with fully-laced vitriol. "How dare you. Either you are very lacking in tact or have a very poor sense of humor. Had I not have the interests of others at heart, I could very possibly Shout you half way to Valenwood."

"I very much doubt a woman heavy with child would be capable of even putting on her own shoes, nevermind Shouting." He dropped to one knee as he said it, symbolically offering her the band they would wed with. As if it were cursed, Sottë gingerly picked the item up and nodded, bile rising in her throat.

* * *

><p>"You accepted!" Galmar cheered when he heard the news. "Oh my lady, I'm so happy. I was so worried about you and the child. The very idea of you both sent out onto the cold streets was unbearable."<br>"You've done your duty, Galmar," Sottë rested a hand on the man's shoulder, feeling tears spring to her eyes. "Thank you...so much. You've cared for me as if I were your own flesh and blood, and I cannot thank you enough."  
>"My lady, please, don't thank me yet." Galmar said mournfully.<p>

Sottë went to bed that night with a heavy heart. It was now little under three weeks until her and Ulfric's child was due to arrive. Mentally, she had tried to replay little snippets of his voice, display his different expressions, remember just which direction his hair stood up to in the morning, and just how she would tease him for it.

She would remember the way he would smile that half-smile at her when they were in court (he knew how she hated being in court and not out there fighting the enemy), how he would barely stifle a laugh at seeing her fidget through the tight corsets and posture-correcting undergarments to be worn in court by most ladies. She would never forget that heady grin he would give her when he finally removed the last of said undergarments, hearing her sigh in relief and becoming reacquainted with her pale skin once more, and that little look of victory as he unpinned her dark tresses. That first little shoot of pleasure when his lips met her flesh. The warmth of him as she lay on his chest, feeling him breathe beneath her.

That warmth, that breath; what she wouldn't give to have it close to her this instance. Sottë's hand drifted to her bump for the first time in months, acknowledging what would be their child in due time. She had felt the baby move, the very movement jolting her awake at nights and frightening her. She wanted to find it joyous but, without her husband, it was a bitterly sad experience. Yet for that night, the night before her second wedding, she drifted into sleep not feeling lonely for the first time in months.

* * *

><p>She had woken up in the morning without someone waking her, barely aware of having a full night's sleep. It had still been dark outside, the morning having only just begun.<p>

She had leaned against the cold sill of the window; somewhere, out there, someone knew the story of how her husband had died; someone had seen the remains of her sister. Sottë had mustered her courage for them, hoping they would be proud of her for what she was about to do. She had made a quick offering and prayer to Talos and had went to find Inna.

Presently, Inna was helping her dress. Sottë had near-begged Inna to not let anyone allow her to have an extravagant wedding, and the dress was a very plain white one. She had married Ulfric in her armor, and that had felt fantastically right. It seemed those days were far behind her.

Sottë had directly dismissed the idea of wearing any sort of head decoration, strange in a Nord wedding. She would face this man plainly. She had no reason to attempt to impress him, he only wanted the wealth and the power.  
>"Inna?" Sottë called, unsure of where her sister was behind her.<br>"Yes, sister?"  
>"Do you think I could have a moment alone, please?" Sottë turned to face her sister, smiling gently at her.<br>"Of course," Inna replied, echoing her smile.

She stopped, pulling her older sister in a warm hug. "I love you, sister."  
>"I love you, too." Sottë soothed.<br>"I'll be right outside when you need me." Inna assured, her older sister nodding at her.

There was so much she would not be able to repay that girl for. She was barely a woman, just turned eighteen summers old, and Inna was mature enough to support an older, heavily-pregnant, thoroughly-distressed sister.

Sottë went to lean her forehead against the glass of the window again. This had been her window she had kept her constant vigil at months before, everyday for hours before dawn. She opened the window; it must be taller than her. With a quick look around the room, she heaved her heavy frame into the sill, slipped off her shoes, and looked down at the ground below. It was a long way to go. Her stomach lurched.

Sottë tapped out a tentative foot further to the edge, edging further out. Thankfully, when the Palace had been reconstructed, the architectural style had changed so that the outside design was more modern, in a sense. The stone borders around each level's windows were thicker, enough for a woman over eight-months pregnant to shift around. It was not, however, completely safe, and her foot would slip every so often. Sottë clutched the thick branch by the southernmost window, heaving herself onto it and stopping to catch her breath for a good minute or so. Heaving herself down the rest of it was no easy task, and the warmth and sweath on her face was strange in the winter air.

Luckily for her, the streets of Windhelm were deserted this early in the morning, except for a lone beggar here and there and the guards on their watch. No one would witness the Dovahkiin in a now-tattered, modest wedding dress roaming gardens behind the Palace. She crossed out the gate, waddling down the hill with some trouble due to her now-huge frame.

She had to stop halfway down, resting on a tree stump. The gravity of it all hit her. The second man in her life she had left at the altar. She had lost her sister. Her husband was dead. She was expecting his child. She was about to give birth to his child. _Oh gods._Sottë cupped a hand to her mouth, the other clasping her forehead in desperation. Sobs racked her body. There was no turning back now. She had to return to the Palace while she still could marry Styrke. A life for her child outside its walls, away from their father's ancestral home was...wrong.

Sottë pulled herself up, requiring a huge effort. Tears blinded her vision, and her ankles throbbed from supporting the weight of their child. The hill seemed to go on forever, and she would have to walk through Windhelm to get back into the Palace. She would have to hurry.

The gods were angry with her, they must be. They must think her a fool, or a blasphemer, or perhaps utterly useless to their cause. Maybe they had decided her unworthy of being the _Dovahkiin, _now? Well, it was too late. They wouldn't take that from her. It was beginning to rain. Surely, the gods were angry. How else could it be?

Her throbbing ankle colliding with something, Sottë felt herself tumbling.  
>"FEIM ZII GRON!" Sottë yelled with the remnants of her strength, watching her hands turn a pearly-white of spirit. She had no idea from where she had summoned that knowledge, thanking the gods that it had come. She rolled over onto her side, watching the ethereal effect wear off. Now, she was just a crazy lady lying on a street in the beginnings of the rain. <em>Oh, Talos.<em>

The rain was getting heavier, it puddled on her ankles, then up her body, onto her face. She opened her eyes. Yes, she was officially insane. She saw him. She saw her husband. She saw Ulfric. The man she loved. He was looming over her, touching her hands, her ankles, her face. Almost as if he were checking she was still real and she had been the one missing for nearly a year.

"Is that-" Sottë pulled herself up to a sitting position, and the figure helped her stand, supporting her weight.  
>"Sottë? Oh gods, is it you? Sottë?" He was questioning her again and again, his words peppered by the howling winds and the falling of rain. He pulled into the nearest door (she had not realized she had made it this far into the city) and, out of the rain and wind, she realized they were stood in the Shrine of Talos. She realized it <em>was<em> him. He was looking down at her, mystified, utterly confused, his hair completely drenched and sticking to him. He looked like he hadn't been able to groom himself in the time he had been gone, and his clothes, beige, sack-like, ragged and ripped, were beyond soaked.  
>"Am I dead?" Sottë questioned, reaching up to try and touch his face, to try and inhale his scent. She pressed a finger to his lips and quickly withdrew it. <em>Real.<br>_"You most definitely are not," he replied, chuckling a watery chuckle. _That voice,_ she thought, _thank the gods for that voice.  
>"<em>You're real..." Sottë whispered. She began crying for what felt like the hundredth time that day.  
>"You're actually real."<p>

He had desperately begun feeling every part of her body, smoothing down her soaked tresses again and again to ensure that they truly existed before him. He felt her arms, her facial features before coming to rest on the swollen stomach.  
>"Is this-?"<br>Sottë laughed (difficult whilst still crying), "you've been gone just a little under nine months. I wanted to tell you before you left."  
>Ulfric dropped to his knees, letting out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.<br>"Oh, Talos. Oh, love, I am so sorry," he stood to meet her, utterly exasperated.  
>"Don't apologize," Sottë beamed a watery smile, "you're here now. You're here!"<p>

She was tracing his facial features again and again, reveling in the once-familiar sensation of being drawn into his strong arms. She placed her head onto his shoulder.  
>"A child, I never even thought-" he drew her to arms length. "A child."<p>

She returned his grin, taking his hand.  
>"You can feel, if you like," she murmured, placing her husband's hand on her stomach, "he's been kicking a lot recently."<br>"I-I..." He trailed off, bewildered. "I love you, Sottë Andrel."  
>He took his hands away momentarily to cup her face. "And I have waited quite a long time to say that. This is better than I could have possibly imagined."<br>"And I love you, Ulfric. More than anything."

They stood there in each other's arms for quite a while, just listening to the sound of the other breathing. Suddenly, Sottë remembered Styrke and the wedding.  
>"Oh, Talos!" Sottë felt strange, and a strange sensation hit her almost as sudden as the liquid on her thighs.<br>"What, what is it?" Ulfric looked down at her fearfully.  
>"I think-" Sottë screwed her face up instantly. "I think the baby may be coming."<br>"Right now?"  
>Sottë nodded frantically. He went to gather her up in his arms, but she placed a hand on his arm to dismiss it.<p>

"No, I cannot go out in that cold. It must be here." She gasped into breaths of pain. "You must go to the Palace and fetch Inna."  
>"No, I am not leaving you, not after all it took for us to find one another again. There is a priest here- Lortheim!"<p>

The elderly priest soon arrived from the back of the temple, looking thoroughly bleary-eyed and disheveled in his nightwear. Sottë felt herself being placed on one of the pews, and she became blury on her husbands instructions, the pain beginning to pulse through her.

"It's going to be alright, love," Ulfric soothed, stroking the woman's damp locks away from her newly-sweating forehead, "just listen to my voice and breathe."

She reached out to clutch the hand nearest her.  
>"If you're back..." she paused, "it is a sign that things will go well."<br>He smiled tenderly down at her, stroking her hair.  
>"Just think then, love, how great the sign of the baby being born in the Shrine of Talos is!"<br>"Oh gods, you're even on about it now!" She swatted the idea away physically. He laughed, having meant it as a less distressing joke. _Oh dear.  
>"<em>Sorry, bad joke." Ulfric chuckled softly, hearing the door to the shrine open. "I love you."

He planted a soft kiss on her warm, sweaty forehead, and she smiled wanly._  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>AN: Phew, thank you if you managed to read all of that! If you're still alive, reviews are much appreciated. I can't decide on the sex of the child, but feel free to vote if you like. Well, that is, if people want another chapter? I'm not too sure, but hopefully! :)_


	25. Bjorn

_A/N: Well, as January exams are long gone, thought I'd just throw this out there (urgh, A2 exams are only made bearable by the prospect of getting into uni, no?), and there's just a few things I'd like to note:  
>1. This chapter will make the story go up to an M. Sorry if that's not for you, but I felt it was where I wanted to take the story. If that's not your thing but you want to read on, the last section being entirely missed will make it a safe T (or even just a K+, I suppose).<br>2. Liberties were taken. That kinda goes without saying though. :p  
>3. This is completely un-beta'd and I'm guessing there are a lot of mistakes to skip over. Feel free to point them out (nicely) in a review, if you like.<br>4. There will be another chapter of this. And I'm gonna be writing other stuff for other fandoms as well! :p  
>5. Ooh, and a big massive humongous shout-out to my favourtiest ever, TreeWithoutWood, for reasons that she has probably guessed from the chapter title.<br>6. I've also put a _Burnt Circlet _playlist on Spotify of songs that either inspired me in writing this or that I listened to whilst writing. You'll find it on my very sparse tumblr, which is atenderdistance dot tumblr dot com, if you're interested!_

* * *

><p>"Sottë-"<p>

The figures above her were very blurred.

"Don't try to sit yourself up, milady," another voice came. She obeyed, utterly exhausted. Her head was spinning, and the elbows she had attempted to prop herself up on relented, wobbling as they made her remain on her back.

"Sottë."

Her leaden eyes stayed upturned, a wan smile pulling at her lips.

"Alda- what's happening?" Ulfric held a cold palm to his wife's face.

"My jarl, here-"the woman was frantically motioning for him to join her at the foot of the bench. He cast a look at Sottë, whose glazed-over eyes had drawn shut with a look of peace on her face, before moving towards Alda.

"I…a boy, sir," the midwife was nervously casting her eyes towards Sottë, who appeared in a fitful sleep.

Sottë knew there was something wrong. She needed help. No, she needed _Heddvild. _She needed to stay awake and be conscious. Her train of thought quickly shifted as she pushed out the last of her strength. No, she needed sleep.

The otherwise talkative midwife was unusually quiet, her lips a tight line and eyes moving quickly as she unceremoniously and almost hastily handed the jarl his child. Ulfric gazed down at the small face, dazed. He tried to say the midwife's name to get her to explain to him what was happening, but was caught between the thick emotion and fear for his wife. All this had been so fast.

Alda was on her knees next to Sottë's apparently-sleeping form.  
>"She's cold," the midwife stated it more, dazed.<br>"How…she's not…is she-?" Ulfric stammered, very much unlike himself, he would have otherwise noted. There was a painful length of silence as Alda frowned forlornly. Her fingers brushed Sottë's neck.  
>"No, but she's lost a lot of blood. The child arrived almost three weeks early, and the events of the past few months must have packed the strain quite damaging to a pregnant woman. We're not out of the woods yet I fear, milord."<p>

Ulfric cast his eyes down to his son for the first full time, properly soaking in his features. He hoped that it would not be a bittersweet reunion.

* * *

><p>Sottë blinked awake groggily and achingly. She felt horrible: her fingers and toes felt completely numb, her whole lower body pulsed with pain and her eyes were heavy with exhaustion. She let out a low moan; someone had let her fall asleep on a bench, of all things.<p>

She felt a warm hand seize her wrist, preventing her from moving from the uncomfortable bench.  
>"Stay right there." A voice commanded, low and almost dangerous.<br>"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, her dry mouth indicating that it had been a while.  
>"About thirteen hours."<p>

The hand still held her in place, and someone was stroking her hair soothingly. Sottë's eyes adjusted to the bright light and she lifted her head from the wood of the bench.  
>"Thirteen hours?" she shuddered, panicked, "Ulfric- what about-"<br>Ulfric let out a low chuckle, relief hitting him as he helped her sit up tentatively, "Relax, Sottë."

She hissed a breath of pain out as she sat upright, sitting awkwardly even as she did so.  
>"We have a somewhat early yet perfectly healthy son."<br>Sottë's grimace shifted into a grin as she beamed down at her husband kneeling at her feet, the hand that had restrained her wrist now held in her own.

She had no words to give him. It was one of the very rare times in which Sottë Andrel was speechless.  
>"A son." She said the word as if she were testing forming it and saying it. "But, where is he?" She asked, shifting her legs as if to get up.<br>"The midwife Alda is just feeding him at the Palace. She said that it was unwise to move you until you woke up naturally. She said she had never seen a woman fall asleep so soon after giving birth." He left the part out about her being dangerously weakened by it all for now, not wishing to distress her further.

Sottë nodded for a while, laughing a sheepish laugh. "I…I can't believe it."  
>Ulfric returned her smile presently, "It would appear I found my way back just in time."<br>To his surprise, she eased herself out of the bench to sit next to him on the floor. He helped her downwards slowly.

"Everyone thought you were dead."  
>Ulfric's eyebrows quirked in mixed emotion. "I can understand that. Did you?"<br>"I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind. I told everyone that you couldn't be, but I may have just been in denial for…certain reasons."  
>"Oh?" She saw the unusually sad smile that had flashed momentarily across his face.<br>She nodded, eyes trailing up and down the face and features she couldn't tell if she had forgotten. Sottë paused before beginning again.  
>"Listen, Ulfric, while you were away-"<p>

She stopped herself as the door opened, allowing the priest Lortheim in. Ulfric had to react quickly as she went to stand up, aiding her as she went. Relenting, she half-leant her back against his side. Ulfric could easily become readjusted to the brown hair unexpectedly thrust under his nose.

That return to the Palace, the first time in almost two days for her and months for him, was slow. It had been night, so there hadn't been many around to see the sight of them both.

* * *

><p>She had been shaking with anticipation and excitement as soon as they'd crossed the threshold of the Palace. She went to speak, but Ulfric seemed to already know what she was about to ask.<br>"Upstairs."  
>When they entered the room in question, Alda nodded politely and quickly left them to their son.<p>

"Is this-?" She asked, sounding detached to her own ears. Ulfric nodded.  
>She neared the plain crib, placing her hands on it as if it may suddenly flare up and burn her. He studied her as she gazed down at the child. Her brow furrowed as if she were studying him deeply.<p>

Startling him, she burst into inelegant tears.  
>"What's wrong?" he stifled a laugh at the sudden burst of emotion, remembering the words of one his father's men he had heard when he had been a young man, something about his wife and her excessive giggle fits in the weeks following giving birth to their daughter. Brushing aside the thought, he caught her shoulders, bringing her to him in a comforting embrace.<br>"Just a bit…overwhelmed. Didn't think so much could happen in such a small amount of time."  
>"If you like we could come back later and-?"<br>"No! No, of course not!" she lifted her newly-warm and reddened face from his shoulder. "I'm not crying like _that._ I'm happy."

She grinned up at him, elbowing him playfully as she turned back to the crib. He followed, and they both maintained a silence as they watched the child.  
>"Would it be wrong of me to say he looks like…a baby?" Sottë murmured.<br>"What would you have him look like?" Ulfric laughed. Sottë felt her stomach lurch pleasantly. She had missed that laugh.  
>"I dunno. I would bet that anyone else would expect the Jarl of Windhelm's son by the Dragonborn to be more…dramatic."<br>Ulfric turned his head, chuckling lowly again. "To be especially heralded by the dawn chorus?"

Sottë shakingly breathed a laugh at that. "Yep. But he's just a child. Simply that."  
>"I wouldn't say <em>just.<em> That's a sign of victory for the war just past. That's perfect for us."  
>"I suppose you're right."<p>

She held out the index finger of her right hand, stroking the tiny length of the boy's soft cheek.  
>"I didn't begin to think of names without you, by the way." Ulfric half lied. He had thought of it, but wouldn't have been able to decide without her.<br>"Good." Sottë was still seemingly entranced by the boy.  
>"You can hold him, if you like." Ulfric said, watching her mouth fall open before it was quickly closed again.<br>"I would like that."

He guided her in the proper way to lift and hold the child, having been shown himself by Alda mere hours beforehand. Moving to stand more behind her to help, Ulfric still held a hand to the back of the child's head from showing her how to support it.

"Ulfric?" Sottë breathed, eyes still on the child.  
>"Yes?"<br>"What was your father's name?"  
>"My father's name? That would be Ásketill."<p>

Immediately, Sottë burst out laughing, her grip on the baby tightening instinctively.  
>"What? What's wrong with Ásketill?"<br>"Nothing!" She looked up to meet Ulfric's eyes with mischievous humour in every feature. She would definitely be the death of him. "Well, it's a bit old fashioned, isn't it? I mean…"ass" and "kettle"?"  
>"Hey! I remember him saying it meant "divine kettle" at some point. That's a nice meaning."<p>

She burst into full, unrestrained chortling now. "Oh, Talos, I have to stop."  
>Sottë winced in pain, consciously exhaling and inhaling for a few moments to calm herself, eyes never leaving his.<br>"But I seem to remember that everyone had called him _Bjorn _since he was old enough to walk."  
>"Hmm," Sottë issued. "<em>Bjorn.<em> What do you think?"  
>"I like it. I like it a lot."<br>"So we're agreed?"  
>"We are."<br>"Bjorn." Sottë near-cooed down at their son. Ulfric allowed himself to grinned, relinquishing the stoic manner he had upheld these past few hours. He joined her in peering down at the newly-named Bjorn. His only discernible feature at this age was his blue-to-grey eyes, peering up at them innocently.

"Our very own lucky charm." Ulfric laughed, nudging his wife with his elbow playfully.  
>"Hopefully more lucky than a rabbit's foot." Sottë smiled.<p>

* * *

><p>There were very particular traditions within a Nordic court, and, strangely enough to most outsiders, there were many unwritten laws about relationships and their conduct. One of these happened to be very similar to the one Sottë had both dreaded and thanked Talos for only weeks prior, in which it was dictated that a widow of the court was expected to have at least a three month mourning period before remarrying. That, she had been thankful for, preventing her from being forced into a remarriage. However, this particular tradition, the tradition that dictated it improper for a married couple of the court to be seen entering the same bedroom (almost to the point of near scandal), was driving her crazy. It did nothing to assuage her post-pregnancy feelings.<p>

Sottë had just finished a particularly light training session to ease herself into dusk as Ulfric cared for Bjorn in the library. She could see the man attempting to read some dusty old tome to the one-month-old.

Ulfric had, being ever the unexpected gentleman, taken the room along the hall, the room she had been holed up in when she had damaged her left arm. The arm had never reset properly at the wrist, and it was with great sadness that her trademark double swords had declined to one sole and lonely sword in her right hand. She had even reassumed combat training (if light to begin with), it being well past a month since she had given birth. She finished a particularly short session and ascended the stairs to rest for the night. If Ulfric seemingly took court norms so seriously, then she supposed that she would have to appear to, as well.

Sottë quickly changed from her new light armour to a loose white nightgown. She cast her eyes around the room, sighing as she settled herself alone in her bed to return to her page in _Of Fjori and Holgeir. _Despite it being a relatively short read, she had felt herself drifting into sleep halfway through the book, still sat upright in her bed.

She was awoken by the bedroom door being opened an hour later.  
>"I thought you might like to see Bjorn again before the end of the night," Ulfric said, sitting himself near Sottë's feet, her knees still being a suitable shelf for her book.<br>"That would be lovely." Sottë smiled slightly groggily, slipping the book to the bedside table and taking the youngster as he offered him to her.

"_Drem yol lok_, youngster," she smiled down at him, watching the expressionless eyes move about in his unblemished face.  
>Ulfric laughed at that, "Don't confuse the child."<br>Sottë gaped at him in mock offense. "Says the one who practically was reared by the Greybeards."

She had muttered that as an afterthought, and Ulfric quirked an eyebrow at that.  
>"I don't remember ever telling you that."<br>Sottë looked sheepish at that, snapping her head up from Bjorn.  
>"Er, wha-? I…you must have." She trailed up, hiding the blush that was setting in.<br>"Unless you read up on me when you went to the Greybeards?"  
>Sottë raised her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, yet the blush setting in across her cheeks made it obvious that he was right.<p>

"I don't care, I'm not embarrassed. We're married with a child, it was an age ago."  
>"Oh don't back out of it now! I think it's sweet." Ulfric chuckled, edging subconsciously towards her along the bed. They were dangerously close. He could see the movement of her throat as she breathed. Her lips were ever so slightly parted.<p>

"I'd better put Bjorn to bed." Sottë stated, Ulfric clearing his throat.  
>"I'll do it." Ulfric offered, taking the child and rising to his feet. He was interrupted as he went to bid goodnight to her.<p>

"Ulfric? Would you please stay? I mean, after you've put Bjorn to bed, of course." Sottë asked, her voice small in the dim light.  
>Ulfric looked down as he thought.<br>"I-I don't mean in that…way. Just stay. I don't want to sleep apart from you anymore if I don't need to."  
>"I will."<br>"Thank you. If anyone mentions, we can always say you have a hysterical wife, or something?" Sottë nervously laughed.  
>"Of course." He laughed, firm this time.<p>

When he returned, he placed himself next to her on the bed, removing his boots and getting into the bed, sitting up as she was. Sottë immediately rested herself against him agonisingly, him subconsciously placing a chin on the head she rested against his shoulder. She smelled faintly of the purple mountain flowers she kept in her wardrobe (the smell brought Helgen to his mind; he remembered them growing along that road), with an undertone of sweat from training earlier on in the evening. He swept an arm around her hip, realising how dangerously close they grew. One of her small hands fell to rest against his chest.

"Ulfric, I must ask you, I can no longer remain silent about the events of the past few months…I have too many questions for you, you know." Sottë murmured.  
>"I know. Well, I don't know what happened exactly beforehand, but the camp was an ambush. They had the high ground, and they outnumbered us massively. I don't know how many archers they had, but it was a lot. I was a fool to not suspect it in the first place. I don't know why they kept me a prisoner for so long, much longer than they had after the Battle of Fort Hraggstad."<br>"And Heddvild? How did she…?"  
>"Heddvild…she had been pursued by one of their cavalry a good length through the battle. He caught up to her eventually. She was gone instantly, love."<p>

Sottë nodded solemnly, turning her face into his shoulder yet not crying.  
>"That's alright," she lied. "That's okay."<p>

Tears threatened at her eyes. Ulfric hooked his index finger under her chin to turn her face to his.  
>"No, it isn't. I'm so sorry."<br>Sottë grimaced, her tears relenting.  
>"You know, she was the only one who knew I was pregnant? I suspected that was why she went with you, to tell you in case you didn't return." Sottë let out a small muffled sound of pain. "And it's her who dies on the battlefield."<p>

Ulfric threaded his other arm around his wife's head to stroke her hair.  
>"It's all my fault for allowing her to join the Stormcloaks," Sottë sobbed lightly, "I should've demanded she return to her husband and home."<br>"It is not your fault at all, Sottë." Ulfric soothed. "The girl was stubborn, like her sister."

Sottë smiled briefly at that, returning to crying silently in heartbreakingly quiet grief against his shoulder.

Unsure if they had fallen asleep like that, he nudged her to test if she slept. The candle had burned out, so he assumed that they had.  
>"Mmh?"<br>"Are you okay?" Ulfric asked, voice low and rumbling. It was a very strange question, given their circumstances.  
>"Mmh." Sottë assured, snuggling into the man's chest. He had wrapped both arms around her firmly in his sleep as she had turned onto her side to face him, both hands on his chest. "Definitely. Much better now."<p>

She smiled (he could have sworn) almost coquettishly up at him for a brief moment before lapsing back into fitful sleep.

* * *

><p>"Good morning," he gasped, surprised to be awoken by the weight of her body sliding atop his.<br>"Hrmm, is it?" Sottë smiled crookedly down at him. Her hair was completely unbound from their trademark half-braids, and he realised how long the brown locks had gotten in his absence. Her hair swept over her left shoulder, reaching a good way down the length of her upper arm. Her form above his felt even better after the months apart, with court tradition being far from his mind with it all. She was a different in how childbirth had changed her previously skinny frame; her breasts were more full and rounded.

Sottë had placed her hands either side of him, her palms flat on the bed as she held herself above him, yet still tantalisingly close. Just by bending her arms at the elbows, she brought herself to rest her forehead against his.  
>"I have a confession to make."<br>"What's that?" Ulfric breathed.

"I really-"she stopped to kiss him, "-don't care what anyone in the court thinks about us sleeping together-"  
>She could feel him smiling against her.<br>"-or in Windhelm," she took a pause from kissing each time before quickly reassuming, "-or Skyrim."

The next kiss was lengthier, more passionate. His hands shot up to either side of her face.  
>"-or Tamriel, or Nirn, for that matter."<br>"Thank the Nine, then," he breathed.

Sottë giggled, threading her hands through his hair. He gave one last thought toward decency and stature, but, as he felt her hips clamp to him, he was verily disinterested in rumour and gossip.

Ulfric allowed his hands and arms to encircle her, trailing up the expanse of her white-clad form to rest over her fuller breasts. He feels her breath hitch in her throat and the contact, and she moved on her arms to straddle the man below her, claiming a minor victory inwardly as he follows her, as desperate as she is not to break the kiss.

To regain some power, Ulfric slipped his right hand under jaw to press fervent kisses along her jawline and down the length of her throat. Sottë feels herself elicit a gasp of pleasure. The words _dirty tactics_ fly through her mind.  
>"It would appear you may have missed me more than you previously indicated, my jarl." She laughed shakily, the kisses he laid on her only serving to make her legs tremble either side of him, clamping to him tighter.<br>"I could say the same for you."

Reclaiming his mouth, Sottë feels Ulfric's hands start on the buttons of her nightgown, and she seizes one of the hands as she does so.  
>"What about keeping a good impression with courtiers?" Sottë chuckled inbetween kisses.<br>"They-"he relented to kiss her lengthily, "-are not going to know that I have had a good ten or so months with only thoughts of bedding my wife to keep me warm at night."

His words sent warm threads of pleasure through her as she released his hands, smiling into his kiss once more.  
>"Thoughts, eh?" Sottë breathed, just as the last button falls undone and two warm hands slide to push the garment off her shoulders.<br>"Oh, yes. Thoughts."

She swiftly slips him out of his own clothing with less-warm hands, tracing one of the familiar scars on his chest.  
>"Think I might have a word or two about such thoughts, Ulfric."<p>

The low, sultry way she had said his name went straight to his head, and he responds by running calloused fingers up and down the soft expanse of her back and rear, resting now on the mounds of her bare breasts.  
>"Show me what you mean." She laughed into him.<p>

He's unaware of how long they carry on that way.

"Ulfric, I need-"

She hooked a leg around his waist to indicate exactly what she could not articulate, and she felt him react even more to her. Ulfric shifted her to be below him, readmitting every curve and line of Sottë's form, every little sound and gasp and each quirk of the mouth to his memory. Sottë nips at his bottom lip, hooking the leg around his waist once more. He took note of the lust-filled eyes staring up at him from under the eyelashes.

She gave a little sound of pleasure as he enters her for the first time in almost a year. It's a familiar sensation, yet one so easily ebbed away by the past months. Ulfric's hands rove to her hips, seizing them towards him, slowly at first.

"Ulfric," she breathed his name in that way that she knows has an unparalleled effect on him. _Gods, _he had been with more experienced women before, but this particular woman was something else entirely. He reached up to sweep some of her long tresses behind her ear. Ulfric feels her smaller yet equally calloused hands go to either side of his face.

He relished the feel of her around him, and their rhythm increased until she elicits a string of low moans, carrying them both over the edge.

It is a good few moments before either of them speak, and Ulfric closes the gap between the two to have her skin on his.  
>"I have said it before and I'll say it again," Ulfric laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "you will be the death of me."<br>Sottë responded by pouting overdramatically, "Well, if you play your cards right, I shall make sure it is a very slow and painless death."

"I am a lucky man." He raised his eyebrows expectantly as he said the words. "And, until then."  
>Sottë planted a chaste kiss on him.<br>"I do love you, you know." Ulfric said.  
>"I know, it's just nice to hear it, that's all." Sottë breathed out a laugh, snuggling into her husband closer for warmth under the blankets.<br>"I really could get used to this," she sighed contentedly.


End file.
